The Whispers of Green Leaves
by ArwenFairTinuviel
Summary: Aragorn is attacked in Mirkwood and rescued by Legolas. Thranduil must not only deal with a party of injured Dúnedain, but also Elrond, who comes seeking to persuade him to strengthen his alliances with Men. Yet the attacks continue, risking his faith. Will Elves and Men learn to work together as Legolas hopes? And will they discover who is behind the attacks before it is too late?
1. The Feast in the Forest

_**Author's note:**__ This is my first Lord of the Rings story for many years, and it has been long overdue! My apologies. I hope you enjoy it and I welcome any feedback or advice!_

**The Whispers of Green Leaves**

_**Aragorn is attacked in Mirkwood and rescued by Legolas. Thranduil must not only deal with a party of injured Dúnedain, but also Elrond, who comes to the Woodland Kingdom accompanied by his sons and daughter, seeking to persuade him to strengthen his alliances with Men. Yet the attacks continue, threatening Thranduil's remaining faith in Men. Will Elves and Men learn to work together as Legolas hopes? And will they discover who is behind the attacks before it is too late?**_

_**Set 15 years after the death of Smaug, some years before the events in The Lord of the Rings. Featuring Legolas, Aragorn, Arwen, Elladan, Elrohir, Thranduil, Elrond, Gandalf &amp; Saruman. Plenty of mystery, action, adventure, character developments – and also some Aragorn-Arwen romance!**_

**Chapter 1 – The Feast in the Forest**

Legolas was bored. Bored and impatient. He had felt this way for months.

He had thought that joining the eventide feast in the forest, as was customary for the Woodland Elves during the warmer months, would make for a suitable distraction, if not a pleasant one… but he had been wrong.

A growing sense of unrest had been gathering within him for some time now. He was dissatisfied with the tedium of life in the Woodland Kingdom; frustrated beyond measure that his sole occupation outside of the caves was shooting down Spiders; that the only news they ever received was another petty disagreement with the Men of Laketown or how another portion of the forest had become unsafe to roam in. It drove him mad that his father took no interest in the lands and peoples beyond their Kingdom, and that he went for _years_ at a time without seeing a single Elf from Lothlórien or Imladris.

Imladris. Legolas' heart soared at the very thought of that place, one of beauty, wisdom and peace. He brightened, remembering his last visit to the singing valley five years ago, the joyous times he had spent in the company of Lord Elrond's sons, Elladan and Elrohir, and the pleasant occasions he had spent talking with Elrond's foster son, the young Dúnedan Estel. For Legolas' father, King Thranduil, took council with Elrond every five years, taking it in turns to journey to each other's realms, and that meant that this year it was finally time for Elrond to visit again.

Legolas smiled. Lord Elrond, along with his advisors, was expected any day now. In fact, Legolas had hoped very much that his small party would have arrived today – for with him he would be bringing Elladan and Elrohir, as well as his daughter Arwen, who were coming along for a sort of holiday. Bless the Valar, Legolas had been _so_ glad when his father had received the news back in winter! Not only was something of interest going to happen at last, but his friends were going to join him, and for the Elves' summer festival, Mereth-O-Laer! He had been avidly looking forward to this visit for months.

But, sadly, they had not arrived today.

Legolas found it hard to reign in his impatience. He had thought that a feast out in the woods, sat beneath the great oaks, would detract him from the misfortune of his friends' absence, but it was proving futile. Such a feast seemed pointless when his friends were not here to join him, and the archery instructor next to him had been wittering on about such banal drivel for the last hour that Legolas now wished he was deaf. He had given up feigning interest for some time, and instead idly played with the lavish food on his plate, immune to the music and the lively chatter around him. It was of no consequence, he decided, if he appeared moody; as the son of Thranduil, whose temper could make the entire kingdom quail like a trembling leaf, it would only be expected that he should appear sulky and haughty once in a while.

Besides, he would not be like this for long. Soon the party from Imladris would be here, and there would be more interesting and exciting goings-on than he could ever wish for.

_Bang._

Everything was thrown into darkness; the black, impenetrable kind of darkness that lurks beneath a thick leafy canopy, untouched by starlight or moonlight. Legolas sighed wearily. With silence ringing in his ears, and all evidence of the feast temporarily removed from his senses, he knew what must have happened.

Something – or someone – had interrupted their feasting.

A few seconds later, the golden-red fire crackled back into life and the ring of Elves surrounding a lavish feast was illuminated before him once more, but this time under a different cluster of trees outside the great gates. As the harpist commenced a new song, Legolas watched the other Elves settle down to resume their feast, picking up half-full gleaming plates and helping themselves to more bread, cheese, grapes, pastries and all manner of wonderful food heaped plentifully in their midst, unfazed by the interruption moments ago.

Legolas, however, did not join them. He wondered who could have interrupted their merry-making under the trees, and why. It was one thing to be able to magically vanish and reappear at a spot a short distance away in the forest upon an outsider's intrusion into their circle, but it was also disturbing, inconvenient, and frankly quite rude. Legolas was not the only one annoyed, judging by the tutting of voices and shaking of heads, but he did seem to be the only one concerned. He wished he could speak to the trees to find out what they had seen, for they were rustling restlessly, but without touching his hand to their trunks he could not learn anything – especially when the conversation around him was so loud.

Legolas stretched out a hand to his goblet, fancying a drink, only to find that the wine it had contained before the intrusion had been spilt; now only a few red drops were left trickling down the side. He pursed his lips and closed his eyes, searching for his reserve of patience, before calmly asking for the wine bowl to be passed his way.

He was just pouring himself some more wine in thoughtful silence when simultaneously the harpist was cut off mid-word, the fire shrank down to ashes, and someone jolted his right arm. Thrown into darkness with the last twang of the harp's strings echoing in his ears, Legolas felt a distinct wetness running down his hand and seeping through his sleeve.

And then, with a flare of red, the faces of his people were lit up again, and he found himself seated in a circle under yet another group of trees in the forest, now with a red stain down the sleeve of his silver gown. Legolas groaned. His father would be most displeased when he saw this later – he was _bound_ to notice, he _always_ noticed what Legolas wished he wouldn't.

Now nervous whispers of concern filled the air; a second interruption in one night was most unusual. The ring had formed tight knots where Elves huddled together, expressing their disgruntlement and disconcertion. Some were throwing worried looks over their shoulders before shrinking back into the golden light, as if expecting an attack at any second, even though they were not far from the palace. Legolas wondered whether he had wished too soon for interesting events to take place…

"What do you make of this–?" The Elf to Legolas's side broke off when he caught sight of his stained sleeve. "Goodness, let me wipe that off quickly, Prince Legolas!" he said, hurrying forwards with a napkin in an attempt to remove the stain. "How annoying these interruptions are! But it is probably just a squirrel determined on attaining a share of those nuts that arrived today from the South."

"Please, do not trouble yourself," Legolas entreated, knowing it was fruitless to try to remove the stain, and not at all keen to restart a conversation with the Elf. A curious feeling had just crept over him, and he was intent on straining his eyes into the darkness outside of the firelight, trying to discern the source. Were the trees trying to talk to him? What did they know?

With Legolas' mind clearly on other matters, the archery instructor turned away and resumed his complaints to the Elf on his other side. Legolas was glad.

He kept searching. The intruder could not be Lord Elrond, for the Elves' magic would have allowed another Elf in – so who could they be? Were they under threat? Nay, surely not – the Spiders were kept at bay some miles away, and the Orcs dwelt far in the south of Mirkwood.

Yet it did not seem to him to merely be a curious animal with an empty stomach. It felt like something more… like he was being watched… like he was _meant_ to realise the reason why… But by the Valar, he just could not place it…

And then he heard it – a voice that belonged to no Elf –

"_Please_…"

Legolas turned sharply. There, in the half-gloom behind him, was a young man on his knees – a Dúnedan, judging by his build and his rusty green raiment. The man's empty grey eyes latched onto his, and cold shock and fear rushed through Legolas's veins. The man was crawling, weak and broken, as if terribly injured. That was _blood_, not wine, coating the hand that was clutched to the man's chest. But even worse than this was the fathomless despair in his eyes that could not possibly be due to physical pain alone.

"Ai!"

Legolas let out a cry of alarm that drew his companions' attention. With his heart racing in fear, he slid onto his knees and reached out to take the man's uninjured hand. The man held his eyes, and Legolas knew he was fighting to hold back his tears. He caught the poor man before he collapsed face first onto the earth and urgently searched his face for some explanation.

"Please help…" the man gasped, his eyes locked onto Legolas's as if they were the only hope left to him in the whole of Arda. He began to tremble violently.

"Of course, my friend! But what is wrong? Tell me, what has happened?"

The man choked out a few words. "Aragorn of the Dúnedain… The one you know as Estel…"

But before he could finish, the Ranger collapsed in Legolas' arms, his blood weeping onto Legolas's fine robes.

_Estel._

Legolas felt his heart miss a beat. _No_. His head reeled; horror filled his heart. _Not Estel!_

He looked around, struggling to comprehend what must be taking place; the other Elves were standing on their feet, watching the scene curiously, but as they realised the man in his arms had fallen unconscious, Legolas saw their interest turn to dismay. Some Elves nearest him pulled the wounded man gently from his arms, allowing Legolas to stand up.

"Prince Legolas! What is it?"

Legolas took a deep breath, summoning up the strength he would soon need, and grimly faced the anxious Elves around him.

"We must make haste. Send for the palace guard and gather your weapons. The Dúnedain are close at hand and – " his voice shook, " – and they are in mortal danger. We must help them."

**xXxXx**

**Please review!**


	2. The Halls of Healing

_**A/N: **__Thank you so much to everyone who is reading / following this story, especially those of you who kindly reviewed! Your comments are very encouraging._

**Chapter 2 – The Halls of Healing**

Warm blood was streaming down into Aragorn's eyes. He staggered to his feet, his head spinning wildly. The cacophony of battle was still ringing loudly in his ears, though how the Dúnedain were faring he did not know. He scanned the dimly lit forest for any approaching enemy, but his vision swung about drunkenly, making the task absurdly difficult, and as he lilted to one side he was forced to grapple with a tree for support. He hung onto it for a moment, breathing heavily.

He was feeling curiously lightheaded, and a fierce pain in was rapidly building in his head. Without really thinking he felt for a wound on his scalp with fumbling fingers, but when he looked at his hand it was red and sticky with blood. _Ah_. That would explain why he had found himself on the ground. The blow must have knocked him out.

Grimacing, Aragorn squinted into the gloom. It seemed that the Orcs had finally been slain – that, or they had fled. Some of his friends were walking about gingerly, cradling injuries, while the Elves that had rushed to their aid were helping those who could not stand. A bearded figure with a battered grey hat was earnestly calling for everyone to follow him… Was that _Mithrandir?_ Aragorn frowned in confusion. Surely his eyes were betraying him, for he had not seen Mithrandir for many weeks…

Perhaps he was so tired that he was hallucinating… He felt so drained from the hours of vigorous combat that he could barely stand, and now his arms and legs were trembling uncontrollably…

A horrible thought suddenly occurred to him. The battle might be over at last… but how many of his men had died? The heartbreak that struck him was crippling; Aragorn almost sank to the ground under the weight of fear and guilt crushing him. How could he have let his people to fall into the ambush…? More than anything he desperately wanted to help them, to do what he could to make up for his terrible blunder. Fuelled by this, he pushed off from the tree and took a few steps towards some figures lying on the ground, but suddenly his legs began to buckle.

"Let me help you, friend…" An Elf rushed to his side just in time; he and one of his companions had seized Aragorn's arms before he could collapse and had hauled one arm around each of their shoulders. As they assisted him into the stream of wounded Men and Elves weaving through the trees towards the Elven palace, Aragorn tried to protest, yet he was so weak his lips would not form the words he wanted to speak. Everything was swimming before him, as if he were drowning underwater.

"Estel? Estel! Ai, you are hurt!"

Suddenly Legolas appeared before him, his eyes full of concern. Aragorn tried to thank him for coming in his hour of need and reassure him that he was well, but he could barely cling onto consciousness, let alone offer up an excuse solid enough to fool an Elf.

Now Legolas was speaking quickly with the Elves supporting him, but Aragorn could not even summon up the concentration it would take to listen to their conversation. Complete exhaustion was threatening to consume him entirely.

Before he knew it, he was being carried in the tide of Men and Elves rushing over the bridge into the Elven Caves. He was feeling fainter by the second. Images swung hypnotically in front of him – trees, lanterns, a river, a great rocky hill… And there, standing by the gates, was a tall, regal-looking Elf, with long white-blond hair and a gleaming crown, surveying the passage of the Dúnedain with narrowed eyes.

_King Thranduil._

No sooner had the comprehension dawned on Aragorn, than the Elf's silver eyes collided with his.

The last thing he saw was a look of stormy contempt flash across Thranduil's face before reality finally pulled unstoppably out of his grasp and everything faded away.

**xXxXx**

As Aragorn slowly came around he gradually became aware of how wonderfully comfortable he was. If he was not mistaken, he was tucked up in a warm, padded bed with clean, flowery-scented sheets and a plump pillow. He gave a start. _He was in a bed!_ Valar above, he had not had the luxury of sleeping in a bed for _months!_

He opened his eyes to find himself lying in one of several beds covered in white sheets spangled with gold. Everything was bathed in the soft yellow light of many candles and a shaft of sunshine that fell through a window at the far end of the large room. As he looked around, realising he must be in the Halls of Healing in the Woodland Elves' palace, he recognised the faces of his resting friends in many of the beds, and Elves hurrying around quietly and tending to them.

_Oh dear_, Aragorn thought as he recalled the surprise attack the night before. How had they fared in the end? He could not quite remember… He certainly had no memory of being brought to this place. He wondered how much time had passed since the battle and supposed, from the pale sunlight streaming through the window, that it was now early morning. He groaned in frustration, for the events of the latter part of the night seemed reluctant to return to him. What had happened since the battle? How much had he missed whilst being unconscious…?

"It is good to see you back in this world," came a voice to Aragorn's right.

Aragorn tilted his gaze away from the window instead to the Elf sitting beside him, his fair face full of relief.

"Legolas!" Aragorn cried in delight, instinctively smiling and then wincing at a twinge of pain in his head that it had triggered. He could not begin to put into words how happy he was to see his Elf-friend, whom he had taken to so warmly on the handful of occasions they had met in Imladris during his childhood, nor how immensely grateful he was that he had come to his rescue the night before…

"Well met, Estel!" Legolas said, beaming. "I did not have the chance to formally greet you last night, as occupied as I was with Orc-slaying, but I do so now, mellon nin. I am very glad to see you."

"And I was even gladder to see you last night," Aragorn replied, and Legolas' eyes twinkled with humour. "When one is battling for one's life, it is not really the time for formal greetings. But the sentiment was still there, I assure you."

"So it was," Legolas replied, nodding as he looked at him fondly. "And you do not need to thank me, Estel," he added before Aragorn even had the chance. "To see you alive and speaking with me is reward enough. Tell me, how are you? Do you feel well?"

Aragorn pondered this and touched his fingers to his head, which felt remarkably heavy. He found a thick bandage there. "I do not feel _un_well, if that is what you mean. What is wrong? Why am I here?"

"You received a deep laceration to your scalp, courtesy of a particularly savage Orc, right at the end of the battle," Legolas explained. "It was bleeding most copiously, and you became very drowsy. Some of my people helped you and your injured companions into our palace, and all the time since you have been unconscious. I am glad that I have stayed here to see you awaken. You have tried my nerves several times in the last few hours alone!"

Aragorn was suddenly struck by worry. "How are they?" he said urgently. "All the other Dúnedain? Are they all alive? Are any seriously injured?"

"They are fine! They are all accounted for and they have been well looked after, I promise!" said Legolas with a reassuring smile.

Aragorn remained unconvinced. "But the healers… are they as proficient as in Imladris? Ada – Lord Elrond – taught me that you must be very thorough, you have to do all the right checks, otherwise – "

"Estel, do not worry! Stay there!" He pushed Aragorn back down into bed, laughing. "In fact, the healers here are even stricter than in Imladris. They will not be at all pleased to see you out of bed."

"But I am fine! You know that, you can vouch for me!" His expression fell, downcast. "I feel like such a fool here, I am of no use to anyone," he muttered to Legolas conspiratorially.

"Estel, how can you think like that!" Legolas exclaimed. "You led the Dúnedain admirably last night, so I hear – Halbarad was highly impressed considering the circumstances. Though none of your men escaped without injuries, all survived, and your wound is only minor."

At the sound of his esteemed mentor's name, Aragorn looked up hopefully. "Where is Halbarad?"

"Last I heard, he is in the armoury, seeing that all the damaged weapons are repaired for when you next depart. I believe he took your sword, amongst the others' weapons."

This news did not bring much comfort to Aragorn, who wished he was well enough to be going to the armoury too. He sank back into gloom, mulling over what he could possibly have done to have avoided the ambush last night, and how he could even begin to apologise to his men – once, of course, he was freed from this ridiculous bed.

"Do not be despondent Estel," Legolas said gently, disturbing his thoughts, and Aragorn hated himself for being so readable. "I will speak to the healers and do all I can to get you released within a day so you can – "

"_A_ _day!"_ Aragorn blurted out before he could stop himself. "I cannot stay here _all day!"_ Alarm filled his face.

"When I was young and I hurt myself by falling out of very tall trees, the healers made me stay at least three days every time," Legolas confessed. "With your head wound, they will be very reluctant to let you go so soon."

"But there is nothing wrong with me!" Aragorn insisted impatiently. "They should know even the slightest head wounds bleed a lot. That does not mean anything serious! And – I was probably just exhausted from the fighting last night, nothing more – "

"I know," Legolas soothed, nodding away consolingly. "But they are incredibly – if not overly – thorough in these healing rooms, I am afraid. I was not even allowed out of bed when I was forced to stay in here… even though I was _so _bored…"

"Ada – I mean, Lord Elrond – he used to let me see the other patients when I was hurt and staying in the healing rooms," Aragorn reminisced. "I enjoyed that, being shown around, helping make the potions…" After a moment he realised that Legolas was looking at him strangely. "What is it?"

"Why do you try to not call him Ada anymore?" Legolas asked softly. Aragorn's gaze dropped downwards and he wrung his hands together. The Elf continued, "Elrond is one of the best fathers I have known, and he has been most fatherly to you. When I first met you, and you were no older than seven, you adored him, and last time we met you still looked up to him so fondly. Why should that change now?"

Aragorn closed his eyes, consumed by a tide of guilt. His friend's words were true – he loved his foster father dearly. But Aragorn had seen the dismay in Elrond's eyes when he had learnt that he had fallen in love with his daughter Arwen, and Aragorn felt immeasurable guilt at inflicting such anguish upon the Elf who had only ever treated him with kindness, who had brought him up as his own son. What a way to repay his generosity, by asking for the hand of his daughter, who would have to sacrifice her _immortality_ to be with him… Aragorn scorned himself. No.

_No_.

He had firmly vowed that he would crush this seed before it grew into anything more treacherous. He would not bring any more pain and suffering to the lives of those he loved most of all – he would not allow Elrond or Arwen to know of any feelings for her that he still had; he would live pretending to have moved on, so that they might live out their immortality in peace; and if anyone was to suffer heartbreak, it would be _him_…

So it was that Aragorn felt he had let down his foster father, and done a wrong so profound that he no longer deserved to refer to Lord Elrond as Father. Besides, he was no longer under any illusion as to the life he would lead. As a child he had been Estel_,_ living as one of the Elves in every way, hoping to stay forever in Imladris and be a healer under Lord Elrond's guidance; but now that he had learnt of his true blood, everything was different. Now he was Aragorn, very much of the race of Men, with his own bloodline and people and duties and weaknesses… Oh, what he would give to be a true son of Elrond… to be truly one of the Elves…

Aragorn bowed his head, too overcome with sorrow to speak. He had tried so very hard to crush these feelings during his first few years in the Wilderness, and it was painful to be forced to address them once more.

When he still had not replied, Legolas said, "Elrond _is_ a father to you Estel, by blood or nay; he is so very loving, he understands you, and he does all he can in your best interests. I can see that something pains you, but I urge you not to forsake him. It will bring both of you more grief than it will solve, I am sure."

Aragorn felt so sick he could not speak. He understood what Legolas was advising him, but his friend did not carry this festering, endless pool of guilt and self-condemnation within him! If he felt it, he would not say the same! Perhaps if he could explain to Legolas, he would understand the wretched predicament he was in…

But when Aragorn turned to his friend, swallowing in an attempt to rid himself of a wave of nausea, he found an odd, twisted expression on the Elf's face. Legolas's blue eyes seemed far away from the room.

"Legolas?" Aragorn asked, his own unhappiness suddenly forgotten.

A whisper fell from the Elf's lips. "What more could you want?"

His eyes turned slowly to meet Aragorn's, and to his alarm the young man found a wealth of emptiness and longing there. Aragorn realised then of what Legolas had been speaking, for he had heard of King Thranduil's stern character and blazing temper, and he understood now the repercussions it might have had on his son. No wonder Legolas envied him, with Elrond acting as his father, so kind and loving, so gentle and understanding! Once more a flare of guilt leapt up in Aragorn's chest, and he bowed under Legolas' strong gaze. He had never felt more undeserving than he did now, sitting next to this Elf who veritably seemed to envy _him_…

"Estel?" said Legolas, his voice worried. "What is it that plagues you?"

Aragorn's mind was filled with images of the most beautiful Elf-maiden walking in gardens beside a frothing waterfall, and instantly his heart swelled with an unbidden tide of powerful, achingly sweet emotion…

He swallowed a hard lump that had lodged in his throat. Could Legolas help him? Would Legolas with all his sharp Elven insight be able to guide him and bring him around from these haunting dreams so that he could stop being so hopelessly and wrongfully in love?

"Legolas… I… It's just…" He brushed a hand over his eyes; for being in love with Elrond's beloved daughter was in no way easy for a lowly Man to admit.

"Are you well, Estel? Does your head pain you?"

"No… I mean, yes, I am fine, my head is fine. What I mean is…" Aragorn took a deep breath, checked that no one was near enough to overhear, fixed his eyes on the foot of his bed and steeled himself. "When I was in Imladris – "

He had only just begun his confession, _finally_, when an Elf rushed past Aragorn's bed, bowed in front of Legolas, and immediately began to whisper a message in his ear. Aragorn looked up, his heart sinking and to be truthful rather annoyed by the intrusion.

Legolas rose to his feet. "I am sorry Estel," he said sincerely, squeezing his friend's shoulder. "My father wishes for my presence this very instant. I must admit, there is nowhere I would rather be than here with you, but…" He sighed, his tone brimming with bottled up frustration. "I must persevere through it, and then I will have a word with the healers about when you can leave. I will come back and see you later, and then you can tell me what you were going to say."

Judging by what Legolas said next, the disappointment on Aragorn's face could not have been clearer.

"Oh Estel, please do not look at me like that!" the Elf wailed. "You know I do not want to go to my father and be scolded for everything I do. I will come back as soon as I can."

Aragorn nodded silently and watched Legolas hurry out of the healing room with baleful eyes. Once his friend had gone, the room seemed quite darkened, in spite of the bright summer sunlight now streaming in through the high window. He felt trapped and alone. He looked gloomily at the bed in which he was doomed to stay all day long, and wondered when he would ever again pluck up enough courage to confess to Legolas his love for Arwen.

**xXxXx**

**Thank you for reading! Next time we will find out why Gandalf has appeared, and why Thranduil is so angry with Legolas. Until then, please review! You really make my day :D**


	3. King Thranduil's Displeasure

**Chapter 3 – King Thranduil's Displeasure**

Legolas hurried through the hallways of the Elven Kingdom towards his father's study, his expression troubled as he continuously recited preformed defences in his head. He knew precisely what his father wanted with him, and he burned with the injustice of it all!

His father did not approve with how he had acted last night, that much was certain. He had seen the look of intense displeasure on his father's face when he had shepherded both Elves and wounded Men through the gates last night, and known then what was lying in wait for him… it was only a matter of time. More than once this morning, someone had warned him of his father's bad temper, of what to prepare himself for…

Yes, he could imagine all too well how outraged his father would be that he, Legolas, had seen fit to take charge last night without informing him, that he had _dared_ to order their guards to rush to the aid of other people, that he had the _cheek_ to bring a party of injured Rangers into their Halls without even asking _permission_.

Legolas uttered something he should not have. By the Valar, it was so unfair! He was a Prince, he was an _adult_, and had been responsible for the guards for hundreds of years! He would _not_ be cowed into admitting to a wrong that he had not committed! He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he had done the right thing by coming to Aragorn's aid; speaking with the young man just now had all but confirmed it to him. If the same thing happened again, he would act in the same way – he would do anything for his young friend and to save innocent lives from a terrible massacre.

As defiance reared within him, Legolas held his chin a little higher and strode along with greater purpose; he wanted to see through the argument that was inevitably coming his way while he still felt so impassioned about the matter. In fact, he was speeding down the halls with so much haste that he did not see the faces of anyone he passed, and did not even notice Gandalf until the wizard had grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him to a very abrupt standstill. Legolas nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Bless the Valar, Mithrandir!" he said, his eyes wide in shock. "_Please_ do _not_ do that again!"

Gandalf did not laugh. Under the wide brim of his hat and the shadow of his bushy eyebrows, his dark eyes were glinting. "Come here," he muttered, dragging the prince around a corner into a secluded hallway.

"I do not under-" Legolas began, looking around to see if anyone else knew what Gandalf wanted with him. He did not even know why Gandalf had suddenly turned up in the middle of the night, although his timing was quite miraculous.

"Hush!" said Gandalf, ruling out any chance of niceties or explanations. "You must tell me, Legolas, did you see anyone last night? Anyone who looked suspicious?"

A frown formed on Legolas's flushed face. "What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"Someone who appeared to be commanding the battle last night… Someone who knew exactly what was going on… leading the fighting or… perhaps watching from a distance?"

Comprehension dawned. "Mithrandir, do you think the attack was planned in advance, not just opportunistic?" he cried.

"HUSH!" Gandalf flapped his arms, his beard askew, fervently trying to silence him.

Legolas had the grace to look abashed. "Forgive me, Mithrandir," he apologised in a low voice. "But, is that the truth? You believe that Aragorn's people were ambushed?"

"I do indeed suspect more than meets the eye," the wizard said quietly. "Though Aragorn is young, I do not believe that he, and the rest of the Dúnedain with him, would fall into a trap so easily. And what in Arda was such a great army of Orcs doing so far from the south of Mirkwood? Dol Guldur must have been practically emptied. Something is awry… but I do not yet know what it is…"

"But, Mithrandir," said Legolas, remembering how when he and the Elves had arrived at the bloody scene, Gandalf had already been in the full swing of battle. "How was it that you came to be there? Did you not see the onset of the attack?"

Gandalf checked up and down the hallway, before answering, "I have been tracking the Dúnedain over the last week… I spent some time with young Aragorn after meeting him a few months back, and… well, he is such a dear lad, so anxious to please others and do well, that when I heard the task he was to lead, I was concerned for his welfare and his success…

"So I stayed with my good friend Beorn so that I could remain close at hand to the Rangers. Then recently, as they neared your father's realm, I camped out in the forest, just to keep a watchful eye on them. But last night a strange fog descended quite suddenly and then I did not know where the Rangers had made camp… Before I knew it there were cries everywhere, but I could see nothing, not even my own hand in front of me… The situation was dire when I eventually found poor Aragorn and his men, and I had so much work to do dealing with those foul Orcs that I could keep no eye out for anything else…"

Legolas gave a sigh. "I am sorry, Mithrandir. I honestly do not remember seeing any onlooker or leader during the battle. It was complete disarray when we arrived… Orcs scattered everywhere… Admittedly there were some chieftains, but they were so witless – as Orcs are – that I can hardly believe any of them to be _capable_ of such a contrived scheme as you are suggesting."

"Indeed…" murmured Gandalf in agreement, looking grim.

"You have not told Aragorn of this, have you?" Legolas asked. Gandalf shook his head. "Because," he continued, a hint of disbelief in his voice, "he actually blames _himself_ for the battle last night, and is very downhearted."

"I have told no other," said Gandalf. "I wanted to check with you first. You must keep your ears open, Legolas, in case others who did see something start talking. But I will speak to others of my suspicions. I think it is too important to keep between us when something far more sinister may underlie last night's events. And Aragorn must be corrected, for it is too cruel for him to punish himself so unfairly."

Legolas nodded, smiling; he would be glad to see his friend cheerful again. Then his mind was brought back to the reason of why he had left Aragorn's side in the first place and he let out a cry.

"Mithrandir, I forgot! Ada – my father – he'll be furious I took so long – forgive me, I must go – " He turned the corner and pelted down the hallway to his father's study, all thoughts of Gandalf's theory replaced with wild imaginations of absurd punishments his father might conjure up for him this time.

**xXxXx**

They had been at it for an hour, and still Legolas was not making any headway.

"So according to you, I should have just left the Dúnedain to be slaughtered on our doorstep?" Legolas snarled angrily.

He and his father were both on their feet. Thranduil was standing tall on the other side of the study to Legolas, striking up an imposing figure against the brilliant summer light slanting in through the window, but Legolas was not perturbed. In spite of his son's refusal to back down, an aloof expression remained on Thranduil's regal face, and he folded his arms coolly.

"It is none of our business what difficulties the Dúnedain get themselves into with Orc packs, whether they are within one mile of our halls or a hundred miles," Thranduil said, turning away with a soft rustle of his opulent robes. "They brought this upon themselves, I am sure of it – and timed the foray so they would have us to fall back on should they need."

"How can you say that?" Legolas gaped, stunned at his father's reasoning. "I assure you, Ada, the Dúnedain would have had no intention of abusing our hospitality!" He knew full-well how independent and self-sufficient the Dúnedain were, not to mention selfless (if Aragorn was anything to judge by), and that they would not even think to risk the success of a skirmish on the off-chance that the Elves would notice and offer assistance.

Thranduil shook his head and looked around at him. "How blind, how truly naïve you are, Legolas. To impulsively offer such generosity is foolish and reckless. Your response, to play the charitable hero, is exactly the kind of reaction they would have hoped for. And how they must be laughing at us now for taking the bait! For what do we receive in return? Wounds? Sixty occupied beds in our Halls of Healing? A food bill that will see us in debt with Laketown?" He laughed humourlessly. "Do not tell me that your actions were born out of kindness, for they were anything _but_ kind regarding the interests of our Kingdom, which must be put before all else. That, Legolas, is why you are not in a position to offer commands without _my_ _word_, and why you should have consulted _me_ before ordering our people to lay down their lives so needlessly."

Legolas held out his hands in despair. "I must protest, Ada…"

Thranduil was not thrown. "Even if it is not the case that those Men had conspired to trick us into helping them all along, as you are set on believing, they are clearly so incompetent that the enemy believed they would make an easy target."

"Incompetent?" Legolas spluttered incredulously. "You should have seen them last night!"

Thranduil's eyes blazed like white-hot spear-tips. "I might have done, if I had been _informed_," he retorted tartly.

Legolas glared at him. "There was no time – they might have all been _dead_ by the time I had finished explaining to you and you had seen sense, if the length of this conversation is anything to go by-!"

"See, you yourself say they are so incompetent they would not have lasted mere minutes on their own with that Orc rabble," Thranduil said loudly over Legolas.

"I do not say they are incompetent!" Legolas fired up furiously. "They are _exceptionally_ competent fighters! But they were greatly outnumbered!"

"Then clearly it was a pre-planned attack. Orc parties do not simply roam in such numbers you are suggesting. These Men are nothing but trouble."

Legolas stared at his father, aghast. Thranduil glowered back, his eyes icy and unrelenting. Speechless, Legolas turned to the two guards at the door, begging them to come to his aid. Surely _they_ understood his reasoning – _anyone_ else would side with his reasoning!

But they remained silent. In the interests of self-preservation, they had learnt over the years that it was far better to pretend not to exist when Thranduil was biting off someone's head, unless you too wished for the same denigrating treatment.

Exasperated, Legolas bowed his head and clutched his throbbing temples.

"With respect, _Ada_," he bit out through gritted teeth, "you are being thoughtless. Imagine if you had been in their posi-"

"_Thoughtless?"_ Thranduil snarled, striding forwards to grab the front of his son's robes. _"I am being thoughtless?_ May I remind you that _you_ were the one, Legolas, who _thoughtlessly_ ordered our people to _sacrifice_ _themselves_ for a bunch of worthless, incompetent, troublemaking Men! You spared not a single thought for our people – _your_ people! Without a single thought to the consequences of your brash actions, and your failure to consult me, you have brought sixty uncouth Men into our palace, filled up our entire Halls of Healing, depleted our food stores – as if we are a charity – as if we are a refuge for the homeless – as if we have resources _to spare_ for such waifs and strays! And you have the gall to do this within days, mere hours perhaps, of Lord Elrond's visit! Valar help me, Legolas! Because of _your _mindlessness, what in Arda will _Lord Elrond_ think when he finds my palace in such abominable disarray, with those _Men_ hobbling around everywhere?"

"Lord Elrond would not care one bit!" Legolas snapped, tugging himself out of his father's grasp. "In fact, he might think your character improved! He _gladly_ takes in such 'waifs and strays' who come to Imladris in need."

"Indeed," Thranduil answered coolly, "he wastes his time and resources on rearing the sons of the line of Elendil, only for them to get themselves killed as soon as they leave his House."

"You are talking about the heirs to the throne of Gondor, the greatest kingdom of Men that stands today!" Legolas growled, furious on Aragorn's behalf. "Think of whom you speak, Ada! You are speaking of Aragorn, Lord Elrond's own _foster son!_ Do not let him hear you speaking such ill of one whom he loves!_"_

"If he should hear me speaking of that Man, it is your fault, Legolas!" Thranduil said irritably. "You are the one to blame for bringing all this – " he gestured wildly, " – upon our Kingdom. But in any case, it would do him much good to hear the truth about the Dúnedain! He is a fool for investing such efforts and hopes on such a ragged people!"

Legolas ogled his father, amazed. "Why even invite Elrond here for council, then, if you believe his views are foolish?"

Thranduil's mouth had just contorted into a sneer that heralded another tirade when a tentative rap came at the door. Snarling, Thranduil whirled around, glaring at the two guards, who were presently exchanging uneasy glances, apparently unsure whether it was safer to take heed of the interruption or ignore it.

"Well?" Thranduil spat bad-temperedly. The Elves sprang out of their statue-like composure and flung open the door. A slightly flustered-looking servant walked in, clearing his throat nervously.

"Your Highness," he said, bowing so low his hair brushed the floor, "Lords Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor, Elladan and Elrohir, and Lady Arwen have arrived."

The whole room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the terrible explosion that was sure to burst forth from King Thranduil at this untimely revelation.

The Elven-King muttered something inaudible under his breath before suddenly throwing out his arm and seizing Legolas, faster than a snake striking its prey. One of the guards gasped, but Legolas refused to let his face betray any outward sign of fear, though his heart was racing madly.

"You have not heard the last of this," Thranduil hissed, his face inches from his son's. "You will wait here, alone, and think on what you have done, while I greet our guests and attempt to smooth over the utter ruin you have wreaked on our palace."

"But–" Legolas stuttered, thinking of his promise to rescue Aragorn from the Halls of Healing, of his desperate desire to see his newly arrived friends –

"You have done enough damage for a decade, Legolas," Thranduil said disparagingly, throwing Legolas from him. The Elf stumbled and watched resentfully as Thranduil turned his back on him and strode over to the door, pulling his emerald green cloak around his shoulders haughtily. "I will not let you distort our guests' views with any of your ridiculous stories about the Dúnedain. You will remain here until I return. Do you understand?"

Legolas glared murderously at his father's back as he marched straight out the door. The guards scuttled out after him not a second too soon, for Thranduil slammed the door shut behind him with such force that a few grains of stone fell down from the ceiling and pattered on the floor.

"I understand," Legolas bit out venomously, throwing himself down onto his father's throne-like chair and wishing, for what had to be the one-thousandth time, that his father would cease to treat him like an Elfling.

**xXxXx**

**Thanks for reading! Next time Legolas finally gets to meet his guests, and Elrond, Elladan &amp; Elrohir pay Aragorn a visit in the Halls of Healing.**

**Please tell me what you think of Legolas's altercation with his father! And any advice or suggestions for what you would like to see in this story would be greatly welcomed :)**


	4. A Reunion of Friends

**Chapter 4 – A Reunion of Friends**

Where was Legolas? Arwen strained to see ahead of the Elf who was leading the party from Rivendell through the hallways of King Thranduil's palace, perplexed by the Prince's uncharacteristic absence. Mayhap they were being taken to him now…

Thranduil had just come to welcome them to the Woodland Realm, but his manner had been somewhat brusque. Of course, Arwen had long known Thranduil to be of stern temperament, but even for him the greeting had been lacking in geniality. He had departed only minutes after their arrival, leaving it to his steward to show them to the reception room. Though Thranduil was often aloof and did not hesitate to speak his mind (whether it would offend or not), he was rarely impolite like this…

"I wonder where Legolas has got to," said Elrohir curiously, as the Elf led them up a set of smooth, wide stone steps that curved around to the left. "I had anticipated an exuberant greeting the second we arrived."

Their father was a few paces ahead, speaking in a low voice to Glorfindel and Erestor, and frowning.

"I am sad he is not here, but I am sure he will join us soon," replied Elladan.

"What do you think, _neth nin_?"

"He would not miss our arrival without good reason," Arwen answered her brother evenly. "Perhaps that is where Thranduil has gone – to recall him from his duties."

"Let us hope so," said Elrohir. "It will be a sore loss if Legolas does not show himself soon. Without him, this holiday will be a far less enjoyable affair than we had expected."

The stairs flattened out and they found themselves in a large, brightly lit room, full of sunlight spilling in from where two large doors were thrown open on the far side. Though Thranduil's palace was built within the ground, the caves themselves were set into a great rocky hill that rose up within the forest, and thus it was that many of the palace's rooms had windows that were cut into the side of the hill. With defence in mind, as it always was in Mirkwood, tall slabs of stone stood on either side of the windows, ready to be pushed into place should the need arise. However today there was no need to seal up the palace, and the glorious summer sun strew glittering trails across the stone floor.

Two other Elves were waiting for them in the room, but Arwen was disappointed to find that neither was Legolas. One stepped forward, bearing a tray with cups of wine, and they each took one with thanks. As they were sipping on their drinks and remarking on the fine weather, Thranduil swept imposingly into the room, dividing their small company as if he was parting the waters of a river.

"Please forgive my delay," he announced to the room at large, swiping a goblet of wine from the tray of the servant standing by and taking a deep draught. "Legolas!"

To Arwen's delight, their friend appeared at that moment at the top of the stairs. But when he hurried forward, she noticed that he looked slightly harassed. However he bowed low before Elrond, and when he looked up and smiled the warmth of sincerity filled his eyes.

"Greetings, Lord Elrond! It is my great pleasure to receive you here and to be at your service," he said as Elrond gestured for him to rise almost immediately. She knew her father did not like the formalities of the Woodland Realm.

Elrond reached forward to shake Legolas's hand. "Well met, Legolas Thranduillon!" he said warmly. "I thank you for your hospitality."

Arwen thought she heard Thranduil snort, but perhaps it was only a gust of wind blowing in through the open doors.

Legolas greeted Glorfindel and Erestor, who inclined their heads in acknowledgement.

"Now, I believe it is my unhappy task to give you an explanation…" Thranduil said to Elrond, looking dreadfully bored. "Let us speak and get the sordid affair over with…"

On that note the King downed his goblet of wine, took a refill, and then led Elrond out onto the balcony. Glorfindel and Erester followed behind, muttering together.

With his father gone out of earshot, Legolas turned to Arwen and her brothers. "Greetings!" he said brightly, embracing Elladan and Elrohir in turn, and nodding to Arwen. "I cannot even begin tell you how glad I am to see you!" He helped himself to a cup of wine.

"Indeed, you were so thrilled by our long-awaited visit that you engineered your absence to time precisely with our arrival," said Elrohir with raised eyebrows.

"_Hanar!"_ Arwen scolded her brother.

Legolas lowered his goblet before he had taken a sip. "I am so _very_ sorry," he said truthfully, looking harried once more. "I was kept otherwise engaged, against my will…"

Elladan cocked an eyebrow. "Well, that answers everything, does it not?" he said to Elrohir, his tone playful. Elrohir smirked.

Legolas was now looking very ill at ease. "Pray, forgive my brothers," Arwen said gently to him, "it is only because we were so looking forward to seeing you. It has been too long, especially for me."

"Some eighty years or so," Legolas sighed. "Long has it been since my father wished for me to visit the Lady Galadriel in Lothlórien, though I so yearn to travel and explore the lands outside the Forest. Tell me, how was your journey?"

"Gruelling," said Arwen.

"Oh? Did you have some trouble with Orcs in the Misty Mountains?"

"Nay," she said, perfectly seriously, "trouble with these two bickering and showing off at every opportunity." She indicated to her brothers, who wore matching expressions of total innocence. This sparked a laugh from Legolas.

"Come now, that is an unfair accusation," Elladan was saying indignantly. "We were only staying up all night so that we could keep watch and make sure you were safe."

"It was unnecessary for you _both_ to stay up for four whole days _and_ nights. You could have taken it in turns."

"It was safer to have two of us instead of one," Elrohir insisted. "Besides, where would the fun be without the challenge of seeing who could stay awake the longest?"

Arwen sighed in exasperation. "Where was the fun for _me?_ Because of this ridiculous 'challenge', you two became rather craggy and unpleasant to be around. Even Elves must catch _some_ sleep. Thank goodness Ada stepped in the night before last and made Glorfindel keep watch so that you could finally get some rest."

Arwen looked back at Legolas, expecting him to declare his judgement on the matter. But it seemed that, during her exchange with her brothers, he had become distracted. His eyes were lingering on the balcony behind her.

She followed his line of sight. Thranduil was clearly not enjoying the subject of the conversation, his expression stormy; meanwhile Arwen's father appeared concerned about something, and Glorfindel was gesturing vigorously as he spoke.

"Legolas," said Arwen slowly, turning back to the blond Elf who was now looking quite ill. "Ought we to ask what is going on? I am afraid Ada realised something was afoot not three minutes after we had stepped inside your halls, and did not wait for your father to finish welcoming us before asking."

"I had rather thought as much," Legolas said grimly, now studying his boots. When answers were not forthcoming, Arwen searched her brothers' eyes, but they seemed to understand as little as she did. The three of them waited for Legolas to speak, and when he did, his voice was soft and humble.

"I am afraid I must apologise for the most unseemly state that you find us in. The rash manner in which I dealt with certain events last night has consequently led to us not being in a fit state to welcome more esteemed guests such as yourselves. I must emphasise that the blame lies not on my father or on any of his advisors, but solely on me."

Arwen was baffled.

"What in the name of the Valar are you talking about, Legolas?" Elladan said, frowning in confusion.

Legolas looked up at someone over her shoulder, and Arwen glanced around to see none other than Gandalf the Grey striding over to join the small group on the balcony.

"And what in Arda is Mithrandir doing here?" Elrohir cried, tearing his eyes from the wizard back to Legolas.

"Last night," said Legolas heavily, "while we were feasting in the forest, an injured Dúnedan Ranger sought us out and informed us that not half a mile away the Dúnedain were engaged in battle with a great number of Orcs. It transpired that an attack had been sprung on them after dark, and they were struggling under the sheer number of enemies. In that split second, I decided that my companions, the guards of the palace and I should go at once to the aid of the Dúnedain. It was not a moment too soon. We succeeding in getting rid of those foul creatures, and no lives had been lost, but nearly all of the Men were injured, and some gravely. I decided that they should be brought back to the palace, so that they could be healed."

The shocked faces of Elladan and Elrohir stared back at Legolas. But Arwen was so taken aback by this news that she could barely stand under the weight of feelings now crushing her chest.

"The Dúnedain?" she asked faintly.

If some of the Dúnedain were here, then maybe, just possibly, Aragorn was here too… Her heart leapt like a bird soaring high above the treetops – and then was immediately dashed by terrible pain. She had dwelt much on Aragorn in both heart and mind, and had treasured the memories of the brief time they had spent in each other's company some five years ago, longing for the time when she might see him again, wondering how it might come to pass… but never had she wished for it to be the result of such horrendous events. The thought that he might be one of those poor souls seriously injured smothered her with such fear she found it difficult to breathe.

Legolas nodded sombrely, unaware of the meaning his news had for her. "The Men were in a desperate situation. Mithrandir believes it was a pre-planned attack."

"These are ill tidings," said Elladan gravely. "The Dúnedain are strong, and not so easily overcome. I do not like the sound of this."

"But why have you taken it upon yourself to apologise for this?" Elrohir asked, looking puzzled. "Your actions saved the lives of many Men! You should be praised for what you have done!"

"My father would beg to disagree," he said quietly, looking down on the untouched cup of wine in his hand. "It is of his opinion that I was irresponsible and neglected the interests of my own people. I acted brashly, inconsiderately, risking the lives of those whom I should protect, too _arrogant_ to stop and reflect on my decision, too _naïve_ to see that our hospitality might be abused, too intent on becoming the _hero of the hour_…" He laughed bitterly, and the sound was chilling.

Elladan and Elrohir seemed stunned into silence by what they had just heard. Arwen was filled with dismay.

"Oh, Legolas!" she said sadly. "You must not take your father's words to heart! So often words spoken in the heat of the moment are later regretted when known to be untrue. The burden of responsibility for your people weighs heavily on Thranduil in these troubled times, as it does on my father. As king he must put the wellbeing of his people before all else, and perhaps for him the knowledge that he might have lost some of his kin – and even his only son – has struck him deeply, and his fear has turned to anger. Do not regret your decision. You acted with honour and integrity, and saved many good men's lives. In time your father will see this, once he realises that all is well. And I assure you, my family will not mind if it is a little crowded and noisy around the dinner table," she finished, trying to pull him out of his gloom.

"Most definitely not," said Elladan fervently, taking Arwen's hint and speaking up at last. "It will make dinner a much more cosy and interesting affair, and for that I am only too pleased."

Arwen was glad to see a small smile finally lift Legolas's lips. "I hope you are right," he said wearily. "But for now, my father cannot see it. I have only caused trouble and worry."

"If it is of any consolation, we believe that you made the right choice," Elrohir reassured him, and Arwen nodded, touching his arm in a gesture of solidarity.

"What does your heart tell you, _mellon nin_?"

Legolas sighed. "It grieves me that my father is unhappy with my decision. But when I saw Aragorn wake this morning, I knew in my heart that I had done the right thing. I would never forgiven myself if I had forsaken him and his kindred in their hour of need and they had not lived to see the morning sun…"

"A-Aragorn?" At the sound of his name, her heart skipped a beat. She spoke before she could stop herself.

Legolas looked up, and a smile washed much of the stress and sadness from his face. "Aragorn is the young man who was leading the Dúnedain, under Halbarad's mentorship. Perhaps you do not know him, Arwen, for you have long been in Lórien. But your brothers know him well," he said, glancing over to Elladan and Elrohir, who both smiled in agreement, "and you would have surely heard that he is Isildur's heir?"

Arwen could hardly speak, she was too overcome. So Aragorn was truly here, in these very halls… She had not dreamed she would be granted the chance to see him again so soon… Her heart was racing beyond all control.

"I – I did meet him – not two weeks before he left Imladris, with Elladan and Elrohir…" she said weakly. Those two weeks had been some of the most joyous of her life, and she had lived a very long life indeed when counted in the lives of Men.

Legolas smiled. "Then you will understand why, for me, there was no hesitation before going to help."

Arwen hurriedly lowered her gaze, feeling unbidden tears stinging in her eyes. Bless the Valar that Legolas had come to Aragorn's aid! She could not bear the thought of him slain, or mortally wounded. Her heart constricted painfully. She had waited for over two and a half millennia to find the one she loved… He meant everything to her…

"We cannot thank you enough for ensuring Estel's safety," Elrohir said, sharing a worried glance with his brother. "He is very dear to us, as you well know from when you met him in Imladris."

Legolas waved a hand to dismiss their thanks as he drank his wine.

"How – how does he fare?" Arwen dared to ask, hoping she did not sound overly interested. Her brothers had cottoned on to her friendship with Aragorn five years ago, and had gained much amusement from teasing her about the affair. But once Aragorn had made the depth of his feelings known to Elrond, the matter had changed to one of great solemnity. For fear of hurting her father, Arwen made sure to not speak of Aragorn since, and she did not wish for any hint of her true feelings to reach her father's eyes or ears, knowing how much the truth would distress him.

Legolas looked upset. "I must confess, he received a nasty blow to the head," he lamented. "I knew Aragorn was tiring, for it was late into the night and he had been fighting hard for some hours… The battle was nearly won, even. Ai, I should have stayed closer to him…" He drifted off, lost in memory.

"Oh, Estel…" Elladan sighed.

"How is he now?" Arwen asked, shakily setting down her cup on a table before she spilt it.

"He lost consciousness, but he has since awoken, and can speak and move his arms and legs without trouble. He seems well; I hope that is truly the case."

"I shall inform my father what has happened, so that he can tend to Estel," Elrohir said, glancing over to where Elrond, Thranduil and Gandalf were still deep in conversation. "He will know for sure if Estel is well and what to do to help."

"That is good news," Legolas said gratefully. "Your father is the best healer in all of Middle Earth, truly! Once he has given Estel the all clear, I shall ensure that he is freed from the Halls of Healing. He might have liked being there as a healer's assistant, but he loathes being a patient!"

Elladan and Elrohir chuckled. "Yes, I remember the battles Ada had with Estel to try to keep him in bed!" Elrohir said.

The three other Elves continued to laugh and reminisce, but Arwen could no longer listen; all she could think of was the terrifying attack upon Aragorn, the fact he now lay wounded, that she had almost lost him forever… and the unbearable knowledge that he was _here_ – he was _so close_ – after so long, she might actually see him…

"Arwen-?"

Legolas's voice drew her out of her reverie. She found the Prince studying her worriedly. "Arwen, are you quite well? You look pale…"

"Yes, I – " Her head was still reeling. "Might I have a lie-down? I feel a little weary…"

"Of course," Legolas said, hastily setting down his goblet. "You have travelled a long way, and had a… trying journey. Let me show you to your room."

Arwen walked quickly from the sunlit room, not daring to meet her brothers' eyes. How much they knew about her enduring feelings for Aragorn, she was not sure; but she did not want to raise their suspicions.

Legolas led her through the cooler passageways, graciously talking about the exciting diversions they could pursue over the course of her stay with such glorious weather, rather than touching on the subject of her sudden fatigue. It was all she could do to follow him and feign mild interest in his ramblings.

Without knowing how she came to be there, Arwen found herself sinking down onto a bed with smooth white sheets and the sound of a door closing resounding in her head. She looked down at her hands; they were trembling.

_Estel… Ai, Estel!_

Now that she was alone, she finally allowed the tide of a hundred emotions to pour forth and she broke down in tears. All the shock and relief, the delight and alarm, the hope and the fear burst forth and filled every corner of the room. She was helpless, shattered and made vulnerable by the terrible and yet wondrous news that Legolas had brought her… news such as she had never foreseen, news she had longed for and dreaded, craved and feared. She did not know how to make sense of it all… Her boundless delight at knowing she would see Aragorn again at last, coupled with her sorrow that it was under such frightening circumstances, that he had been mere minutes from death, that he now lay wounded…

She wept for his pain, for the endless nights of agony spent apart… for the Valar's curse on their love…

Since she had known him, all thoughts of Aragorn had brought her happiness such as she had never known, yet always mingled with the most piercing pain – for all the customs of her people prohibited an Elf from loving a mortal, and her father's word forbade it until Aragorn was verily _King_; the Valar themselves would punish her with mortality should she cleave herself to him forever, and even then she knew that many years of toil and separation lay before them, with no promise of union at the end.

Ai, how she ached to touch those hands as she once did, to caress Aragorn's face and feel the swell of her heart as he warmly embraced her! …But how she was afraid.

For her father's sake, this love had to remain hidden. Arwen knew how much Elrond had hurt upon learning what had transpired between her and his foster-son. She also knew how he had delicately set the matter aside over the last year or two, perhaps quietly hoping that their feelings might dim with time and separation. Though her feelings had not waned – rather, intensified – with time, she did not wish to cruelly scratch open that slowly healing wound once more. It was better that she and Aragorn kept their love from all eyes.

But did she have the strength to conceal it, when Aragorn stood before her among a company of Elves and Men, after countless days and nights of wishing desperately for his presence?

Arwen buried her tearstained face in her trembling hands, slowing her breathing and calming her mind. She would pray to the Valar that they would strengthen her, and give her the courage and grace she would need when she finally set eyes on Aragorn… With the knowledge that at some point soon, somehow, they would find an opportunity to meet alone in secret and declare their love, she would manage it.

**xXxXx**

It had been hours since Legolas had dashed off and Aragorn was still stuck in the Halls of Healing. Though he had often dreamed of his bed back home in Rivendell, and though the mattress he was lying on now was at least as comfortable as his own and _far_ more agreeable than rocky ground, he found that being in bed did not suit him at all well. He had no one but his thoughts for company, and that was proving painful.

He could not go to his friends' beds to speak with them for the healers had confined him to his bed, apparently for fear that because of his head injury he might faint or have a fit and thus hurt himself if he should be walking around. But Aragorn did not think the healers would like it much if he started shouting across the room to them, either. The healers here had proved to be just as draconian as Legolas had warned him. He had attempted conversation, but swiftly learnt that he should lie still and be quiet, or risk being given a sleeping draught to force him to be so.

Aragorn sighed, mulling over the events of the last twenty-four hours. After falling into the ambush and seeing his men trapped in such a hopeless battle – and all the while being able to do absolutely nothing about it – he had lost total faith in his own abilities. What use was he as Chieftain of the Dúnedain if he could not protect them? Perhaps Halbarad was even now regretting his decision to let Aragorn lead them when he was still young and clearly irresponsible – and he would be right to do so, Aragorn thought to himself, for he felt he had shown false hope over the years. The Dúnedain had all trusted him with their lives – and now he had let them down, quite spectacularly. In spite of all his good intentions and best efforts, he had failed. Yet while he was imprisoned in the Halls of Healing there was nothing he could do to make amends. It was insufferable.

And now Elrond would be disappointed in him – for surely he and all of Middle-Earth would hear of his failure – and Arwen would think how young and foolish he was, how blighted he was with the flaws of Men, how unworthy of her love, and he would fall out of her favour…

Aragorn let out a low growl, mentally berating himself for thinking like this – for thinking of _Arwen_. He reminded himself to plead for Legolas' advice at the soonest opportunity, but then he remembered how Legolas was in trouble with his father – most probably because the Elf had taken pity on him – and Aragorn grew sadder.

He had not yet had the chance to speak to King Thranduil, though he knew he must. Vividly he remembered the look of contempt that flashed across the Thranduil's face last night as he had watched Legolas bring him through the gates into the palace, and Aragorn knew that he was to blame for such enmity. There was so much he needed to set right – to offer his gratitude, to apologise for exploiting his hospitality, to make sure that Legolas was entirely freed from blame…

Lost as he was in such dismal thoughts, Aragorn did not notice the healer approach him until she was right at his bedside.

"Are you fit to receive visitors, my lord?" she asked.

"Of course!" Aragorn said hastily, relieved that Legolas would finally be joining him once more.

But it was not Legolas who stepped through the door a moment later – _by Elbereth_, it was _Elladan and Elrohir!_

Aragorn felt as if he had been knocked over the head with a hefty stave – _again_ – and he was still struggling with shock and incomprehension as the brothers rushed over to embrace him. There was joy in their faces at seeing their young foster brother and Aragorn could not hold back a grin, all despondent thoughts for the moment forgotten in his sudden happiness.

"Oh, Estel! It is _so_ good to see you! You have grown up so much in the four years since we saw you last…" Elladan released Aragorn from the suffocating hug he had forced upon him and held him out for scrupulous inspection.

"I was _already_ twenty-one when you left me with the Dúnedain," Aragorn protested, firm in the belief that he had already been quite grown four years ago.

Elladan merely laughed and sat down next to him on the bed. It was Elrohir's turn to hug him, before he sat down too, asking, "How are you, Estel? How did you find your time with Dúnedain after we left you?"

Aragorn totally ignored Elrohir's question. "How is it that _you_ are here?" he demanded incredulously. "Surely you did not travel all the way here in only a few hours because of last night?"

"Of course not!" replied Elrohir. "The scuffle you had with the Orcs had nothing to do with our coming here! We were only a day behind you on our journey from Imladris."

"Ada had arranged to meet Thranduil to discuss certain matters," Elladan explained. "We tagged along… for a little holiday." He gave a wink.

"To see Legolas!" Aragorn deduced shrewdly and laughed. The twins joined in.

"We had no idea at all that you and your Rangers were here until we got inside these caves," said Elrohir. "Then we could tell something was afoot… You have caused quite a chaos little brother!"

Aragorn looked down sheepishly. "That was not my intention," he mumbled.

"Do not be silly, Estel, we were only joking," said Elladan quickly. "You cannot honestly think that you are to blame for everyone ending up here?"

"Thranduil does," Aragorn sighed. "I saw him glaring at me last night."

"Actually, he blames Legolas," Elladan corrected him. "You see, Legolas did not consult his father before ordering the Elves to join the fray, nor did he ask his father's permission for inviting all of you to stay."

"But so many were injured!" Aragorn could not stop himself from objecting, he was so incredulous.

"I know, I know," Elladan agreed. "But Thranduil does not like to be undermined, and, err…" He searched his brother's eyes, looking for a delicate way to phrase what he wanted to say.

"And he does not like me much either," Aragorn finished for him. The two Elves grimaced.

"You, and all the Dúnedain… All of the race of Men, actually…" Elrohir corrected himself again. _"In fact_, anyone who is _not_ an Elf. It seems that the only people he will even _consider_ trusting are Elves and Mithrandir… But do not let him know that I said that to you… It is just that he has never been very… _multicultural_."

Elladan scowled, but Aragorn just groaned. "I have not improved his impression of Men then, have I?" he said despondently.

"Oh, do not worry, Estel," Elladan assuaged him. "He is hardly likely to change overnight after thousands of years like this! And – " he added as Aragorn opened his mouth again, "Ada is doing all he can to save Legolas from getting into too much trouble."

"Am I now?" spoke a stern voice, and all three twisted around to see a tall, dark-haired Elf gazing down at them, his lips quirking up into a smile.

Elrond had arrived.

**xXxXx**

**Next time we will see what Elrond has to say to Aragorn, and Legolas finds a clue to who might be behind the attack on the Dúnedain.**

**Thank you so much for reviewing, it really brightens up my days of pathology revision!**


	5. The Hooded Figure

**Chapter 5 – The Hooded Figure**

"Ada!" Elladan leapt up from the bed, hurrying to his father. "Is Legolas alright?"

Elrond sighed and massaged his temples wearily. "I have conveyed my views on Legolas's judgement to Thranduil, but at the end of the day, it is for Thranduil to decide upon the next course of action, as Legolas's father and as king."

"I do hope Legolas will not be punished," Elrohir said, joining the other two Elves at the foot of the bed.

But Elrond had no further interest in Legolas for the moment; his pensive gaze was fixed on Aragorn, who had sunk low under the covers and could not bear to meet his foster-father's eyes. He loved Elrond dearly, but on seeing the Elf he had been assaulted by painful memories of their last parting – one full of hurt, disappointment and guilt. He was afraid that too much had come between them for their relationship to be salvaged, for things to go back to the way they had always been.

"How are you, _ion nín_?" said Elrond gently, sitting down at Aragorn's side. But still Aragorn could not bring himself to meet Elrond's searching eyes for fear of what he might find. Did anger still rankle within Elrond, outrage that he had dared set eyes upon Arwen? Perhaps he would find a detached coldness, all fatherly kindness abandoned now that Aragorn's true forefathers had been brought to light. Or, worst of all, would he see disappointment in those wise, grey eyes, the disenchantment of one who had nurtured him hoping that he would become so much more, only to be proven wrong…? He would rather be confined to the Halls of Healing for three further days than discover just how badly his foster-father now regarded him.

Oblivious to Aragorn's turmoil, Elrohir called out to his father, "Ada, we will leave you here with Estel while we go to resc- I mean _find_ Legolas. And we will send him here _immediately_ to coerce these healers into releasing you, Estel."

Alarmed at the brothers' departure, Aragorn's head shot up and he watched them leave with trepidation. He was now alone with Elrond, and no way to avoid it.

"What is it, Estel? I can see something troubles you," Elrond said softly.

Aragorn remained silent, clutching the edge of his blanket as tightly as he gripped his sword when faced with an advancing pack of screeching Orcs.

"Estel? Tell me."

Aragorn could not speak. What lasting damage had he caused to his relationship with Elrond? Was it ruined forever? He did not want to find out. With his eyes locked on a loose golden thread poking out of the blanket, he wordlessly shook his head.

"_Valar,"_ Elrond murmured. Caught by surprise at the Lord of Rivendell's expression of frustration, Aragorn glanced up, and he found the Elf gazing at him with deep concern. Aragorn immediately bowed his head once more. "What is wrong? _Estel?"_

Aragorn cringed. Alas! He knew now, his foster-father was not angry or unfeeling towards him, no, which meant that the third, most dreadful option was true – he was _disappointed_ in him_…_

"Please forgive me, Ada," Aragorn whispered. He hated the tears that were starting to prickle in his eyes. "I have done nothing but disappoint you."

Elrond harshly muttered something so unlike him that Aragorn could not help but stare at him in disbelief. "What did you say?"

Elrond's eyebrows knitted together in a heavy line. "Something I should not have. But I do not regret it, now that you are looking at me at last. Please tell me, Estel, what in Arda are you speaking of?"

"Must I make a list?" Aragorn said sullenly, feeling depressed.

"A list?" Elrond echoed, baffled.

Aragorn was beginning to get irritated, though he suspected it was more with himself than the Elf sitting uncomprehendingly in front of him. "Must I recount everything I have done that has brought you disappointment, Ada? Might I start with the horrors of last night? Surely you did not expect me to be dull-witted enough to lead my companions into an ambush? Or weak enough to succumb to mere Orcs? I am sure you would have never thought you would find me laying a heavy burden on one of your allies, or showing such little respect to both my own people and the Woodland Elves. You must be regretting your decision to call me your son, for today I can only have brought you humiliation."

For a long moment Elrond said nothing. Tendrils of dread crept their way around Aragorn's heart and began to squeeze painfully, making him feel sick. He knew it, he had irrevocably lost his father…

"I am sorry, Ada," Aragorn said quietly. "I only ever wanted to make you proud."

Elrond slowly shook his head, as if what he was hearing was so absurd he could not take it in.

"Aragorn, you have in _no way_ disappointed me," he said at last. "It grieves me to learn that I have been of such worry to you! What lasting impression did I leave on you, for you to think my opinion of you would be so low?" He shook his head again, seemingly dazed. "Did you truly believe that, after spending a few weeks in the Wild with Elladan and Elrohir, I would expect the same feats of you as I do of them? Did you believe I would think, after only a few years living among your people, that you would be ready to stand alone as the Chieftain of the Dúnedain? Or that by telling you your true name you would instantly become King, and moreover one as great as Elendil himself?"

Aragorn blushed. Now that he heard his foster-father saying it, he had been foolish to think that Elrond would expect so much of him when he was still only twenty-five. But the truth of the matter was that Elrond had declared that he would only be worthy of his daughter once he was King of Gondor and Sauron had been defeated forever. Aragorn knew he had been very daft indeed to think he might have made substantial progress in rising to those challenges in only five years, but in the naivety and blind hope of youth that was what he had believed. How wrong he had been!

But Elrond did not laugh at him, or rebuke him for his stupidity. Instead he continued to reassure him. "Listen to me, Aragorn. In these last few years, you have done nothing but surpass all that has been expected of you by me and by your companions. You have learned so much, and earned the trust and admiration of those you have been with. Did you not realise how highly the Dúnedain regard you, to have trusted you to take on the role of their leader? Trust me when I say it is clear that they care for you greatly, as if you are their son. They would not forsake you because of what happened last night, they would stand by you. None whom I have spoken to claim to have been any wiser than you were last night. They would have acted just as you acted. And your determination to keep fighting in the face of adversity gave them the courage to carry on until help came. You coped admirably well in the face of mortal danger, and have lived up to your title as the young Cheftain of the Dúnedain."

"You are very kind," Aragorn said softly, his head bowed, "despite me making such a detrimental mistake."

"We cannot go our whole lives without having regrets, Aragorn. We must all face challenges, and all we can do is act on what we think to be right at the time. _Please_, harken to me and cease your worrying. Nobody blames you for what happened, save for yourself. The Elves do not resent you, as you seem to imply, they are glad that they managed to save you from such evil."

"I do not think Thranduil feels the same way as the other Elves, or as Legolas," Aragorn noted.

Elrond looked thoughtful. "Perhaps; but he knows a massacre at his hands would not have left his reputation untarnished. He has shown you great courtesy and generosity, but he is clever. He will expect something in return."

"Even though it was Legolas who brought the Elves to us, and invited us to take refuge here?"

"Legolas, despite showing initiative – "

"And doing the right thing," Aragorn put in, earning the slightest nod of agreement from Elrond.

" – Despite showing initiative, he did not have the authority to give either of those things to you without the permission of King Thranduil. That is why Legolas is in trouble with his father."

"It is unjust," Aragorn muttered. "If anyone is to blame, it is not Legolas, it is me." He furrowed his brow, thinking hard. "I promise you, Ada, I will find a way to make things right with Thranduil."

Elrond nodded confidently. "I am sure you will."

"Well, I will once I get out of these healing rooms," Aragorn added as an embittered afterthought.

Elrond gave a low chuckle, and Aragorn glowered at him.

"Where is Legolas?"

Elrond's eyes narrowed a fraction, as if he suspected that the pair of friends had hatched a mischievous plan.

"Why do you ask?"

"Because–" Aragorn hesitated before he confessed, "Legolas promised to come and release me from being confined to this bed like an invalid." Before Elrond could even shoot him a stern look, Aragorn protested, "Look at me, Ada! I have a bandage around my head and I am forced to stay in this bed. I am the leader of the Dúnedain and well taught by you in healing; but now I look like a fool to everyone's eyes, even though I am perfectly fine and could help care for the others! I feel so ashamed," he mumbled finally.

Elrond laid a comforting hand on Aragorn's shoulder, but his tone was firm. "You are under the hospitality of King Thranduil now, therefore you must abide by his healers' rules and show him courtesy."

"I know," said Aragorn irritably. "But I know that everyone else is talking about me, and last night, and how it was my fault or even _Legolas's_ fault, and _I _am left out of it all! It is so unfair that I cannot set the record straight and start to make amends! If only I could escape these imprisoning halls…" His eyes roved around the room as if searching for an escape route.

"You will be free to do so once you are discharged from these halls," Elrond reminded him, with the infuriating calmness of a parent who has been forced to listen to a similar complaint countless times before. "You may _feel_ fine, Aragorn, but remember that head injuries can be serious, and the healers are just taking precautions. You can use this time to mull over exactly what you want to say to Thranduil when you see him. And you should be aware that Legolas may not even be in a position to free you from the Halls of Healing."

Aragorn nodded meekly, although he was convinced that, having several thousand years' experience of escaping from these healing rooms, Legolas would have persuasion and evasion down to a fine art.

"Now, let me see that wound of yours…" Elrond said, leaning forward to deftly unwrap the bandage on Aragorn's head. He peered at the red wound closely. "Does it hurt you still?"

"No," Aragorn answered automatically, closing his eyes and leaning back into his pillows. He knew better than to disturb his foster-father while he was at work.

Suddenly a sharp sting ripped apart his head and, before he had realised that it was only the Elf's fingers lightly probing the wound, he had let out a hiss of pain. His eyes snapped open, and he found Elrond studying him sceptically.

"Hmm…"

Aragorn's heart sank as his foster-father resumed his careful inspection. If Elrond suspected that the wound was severe, he would _never_ get out of these healing rooms, with Legolas's aid or not.

"There is a small skull fracture," Elrond concluded as he put a clean bandage back on. "And there is, I fear, some bruising in the brain tissue beneath." He looked meaningfully at Aragorn. "Though you seem well currently, it concerns me that you had trouble speaking last night and lost consciousness for some time."

Aragorn swallowed. Brain injuries were a serious matter, even for an Elf, and notoriously tricky to heal. "Will there be permanent damage?" he asked hesitantly.

Elrond sat back, looking contemplative. "I think that we still have enough time to prevent that. I do not have them on my person now, but I will fetch my supply of dried Evening Star flowers tomorrow and use them to treat your wound. If I must be called to a meeting with Thranduil, I am sure that Elladan or Elrohir will be glad to help you in my stead."

"But Ada!" Aragorn stammered, aghast. "Evening Star flowers are so rare, and my wound is nothing! Keep them, please! I know they are potent at healing those in your bloodline, keep them for when they might be more needed on you or your family!"

"I am glad to see that you remember what you learnt in my healing halls, Aragorn," said Elrond, seeming impressed. "But I am not to be swayed on this matter. Your wound is not insignificant, and you are a blood relative, albeit a distant one. Therefore I am certain that they will help your injury to heal without leaving any lasting deficits."

"But you will have to use more for me as I am so very distantly related," Aragorn retorted, feeling incredibly guilty at accepting the precious flowers. How could his foster-father give up so much for him? Had he truly forgiven him for the hurts he had inflicted at their last parting?

"I am willing to overlook that in light of how dear you are to me, Aragorn," said Elrond fondly.

Aragorn ducked his head, feeling incredibly touched. "_Hannon le_, Ada," he whispered, wishing he could express how grateful he was more eloquently. Instead he resorted to a simple, shy smile. "I missed you."

Elrond smiled back and opened his arms wide. Aragorn willingly moved forward to embrace him as Elrond said, "I missed you too, _ion nín_. Everyday I wondered how you were, and what you were doing, and whether you were safe. It is a joyous surprise to be able to spend a little time with you after so long apart."

"I thought about you, too," Aragorn admitted. "It was very hard leaving Imladris. I often wished I was back there with you, for I missed your company and the peace and quiet of the Valley. The Wild is unpredictable and dangerous. But over time, I became used to living more adventurously, I suppose, and having the company of others, and I wished for the Valley less…"

Elrond appeared satisfied. "I am glad to hear it. There is much I would like to hear about your time with your people, what you have seen and done, and what you have learnt; but I am afraid we shall have to save it for another occasion. I need to speak with the healers about my proposed course of treatment for your wound, and then I should get ready for this evening. King Thranduil is throwing a great feast on account of my arrival and I must look my best. I shall go now, Aragorn, but I will see you tomorrow."

"Or later today, if Legolas comes," Aragorn reminded him with a cheeky grin.

"Or… yes," Elrond sighed. "Honestly, is Legolas _looking_ for trouble? I hope for his sake that his father does not hear about this too… _Namarië,_ Aragorn."

"Goodbye," Aragorn replied.

Once Elrond had gone, Aragorn relaxed back into his pillow. He felt as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders now that he had spoken with his foster-father. The niggling doubt that had been hovering on the edge of his mind for the last five years had finally been banished. At last he knew that Elrond still loved him like a son, and neither his affections for Arwen, nor his departure from Rivendell, nor the ambush last night had changed that. And that meant the world to him.

Furthermore, it was an overwhelming relief to hear from his foster-father that it had not been his wrongdoing that had led to the Dúnedain falling into the ambush. He valued Elrond's opinion above anyone else's, and his verdict was what he needed to finally come to terms with the concept that he was not to blame.

Of course, it had not escaped Aragorn's notice that Elrond had failed to mention his daughter even once in the conversation. It seemed that Elrond had succeeded in putting that difficult matter behind him, for which Aragorn was truly grateful. But if only he could say the same of himself…

He had tried to quell his feelings for Arwen Undómiel, and he _wanted_ to believe that he no longer loved her, but his resolve to put her behind him had not yet been tested. He feared that his heart had not changed and was unsure whether he could trust himself to not care for her anymore. But perhaps he could take inspiration from Elrond's example and find the strength of heart to put those painful feelings behind him. He would do whatever he could to make everything wholly back to normal between him and his foster-father, regardless of how difficult that might be.

He _would_ manage it, he told himself firmly, especially if he had a friend to confide in. If only he could bring himself to speak of this to Legolas, he could get it off his chest and finally free the emotions that had been fluttering inside his heart since his meeting with Arwen. Once he heard it confirmed by his friend that he should cease to think of her, he would finally get the closure he needed.

Besides, it would likely be another five years at least before he returned home to Rivendell, and Arwen might not even be there still. He would have plenty of time to make his heart forget the Elf it had fallen in love with before he was forced to encounter her again.

**xXxXx**

Legolas left the healers' office, his heart light. With the help of Lord Elrond and his renowned expertise in healing, he had succeeded in twisting the arm of the head healer into allowing Aragorn to leave the Halls of Healing. If Elrond said that he would personally treat the patient's wound and that the patient could therefore be discharged on those terms, the healer could not legitimately disagree – although Legolas suspected that she had rather wanted to.

The prince wove his way through the bustling Halls of Healing, pleased that he could bring his friend good news even if it was several hours later than he had anticipated. As he passed the beds, glancing at the faces of the wounded Dúnedain lying there, he quite unexpectedly saw a face he recognised, though it was not Aragorn.

Legolas hesitated, trying to place the young man's face. As he drifted to a halt by the Ranger's bed, the man looked up at him, revealing his sad grey eyes, and realisation hit – he was the Dúnedan who had found him in search of aid the night before. Remembering Mithrandir's conversation with him earlier, Legolas wondered whether he should ask the man if he had seen someone overseeing the Orc's attack from a distance when he had left the battle.

The man shifted uncomfortably in the bed and Legolas realised he had been staring. "Forgive me, friend," Legolas said in the Common Tongue. "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," the Dúnedan replied. "You came to Aragorn's aid and saved the lives of my people, you may ask me anything you wish."

Legolas hesitated. "When you came to find my kin, you left the fighting that was still going on behind you, am I right?"

His words seemed to trouble the man. "Yes; I must say that it felt terribly wrong leaving my friends one man down…"

"No, you misunderstand me!" Legolas said hastily. "What I meant was – I know that there was no obvious leader of the Orc attack, but when you left the battlefield did you see anybody ordering the Orcs from the back of the ranks? Perhaps you passed them by? Maybe a man or… a figure cloaked in black?" He was afraid to speak of the Nazgûl directly in case he struck the man with fear, but they were something that concerned him and would also explain Mithrandir's consternation.

The man shook his head. "I did not see a leader…" he said slowly, "nobody passing instructions to the Orcs or leading the fighting. There were only Orcs. But–" He suddenly looked up at Legolas. "I _did_ see someone as I left; in fact – forgive me for the insult – I mistook them at first for an Elf, for it was Elves whom I was seeking."

Legolas hastened closer to the man's bedside. "What were they doing?" he asked eagerly.

The Dúnedan shrugged. "Just watching, it seemed… But when I approached, hoping for help, they left."

Legolas urgently called over the nearest healer. "Fetch Mithrandir!"

The healer looked from Legolas to the man in the bed, alarm on her face. "Why, is he critically ill?" she said, peering down at the poor Ranger.

"This matter cannot wait!" Legolas raised his voice, snapping the healer out of her train of thought.

"Yes, forgive me, I shall go right away." She dashed out of the room. Shortly after, she returned with Gandalf and showed the wizard where Legolas was.

"Mithrandir!" Legolas cried. "This young man saw someone last night, perhaps he can help you!"

"Is that so?" murmured Gandalf as he sat down on a chair next to Legolas. "Good sir, would you mind recounting the events of last night for us? From the moment you made the decision to leave the fight and seek help, please."

The Dúnedan nodded nervously and glanced between the Elf and the wizard, before beginning to explain.

"Well… the battle was so dire that I knew the only way to save us would be to find help from elsewhere. I escaped the Orcs without too much difficulty, for the forest was full of unusually thick fog for this time of year – by keeping low to the ground I managed to leave without being seen. All the while I could hear the cries of my friends behind me, and I felt my heart pulling me back to help them. But as I had been wounded badly I could no longer bear a weapon and aid them in arms, so I willed myself to go on and not look back."

"How did you know where to go for help?" Legolas asked.

"I knew I should head eastwards, in the direction of where the ground began to ascend and become rockier, because only that day we had been speaking of the great cave under a hill of rock that was not far away, where the Woodland Elves lived." The Ranger looked at Legolas, who nodded.

"When did you see the onlooker?" prompted Gandalf.

"I had just stumbled over a boulder lodged against a great tree root. As I grasped a branch to save myself from falling, I caught sight of someone out of the corner of my eye."

Legolas's heart began to gallop in his chest. "What did they look like?" pressed Gandalf.

The man closed his eyes, picturing the scene. Legolas hung onto his every word. "He was cloaked in pale white or grey, I think. Perhaps it was a trick of my eyes, but he seemed to glow faintly out of the thick gloom of the forest."

"How do you know the onlooker was male?" said Gandalf.

"I did not hesitate to change course and make towards the onlooker, thinking they must be an Elf – but as I neared I realised he was not – or if he was, he was wearing a rather unimaginative disguise – since from under the shadow of the hood protruded the white beard of an old man! He did not see me at first because he was intently watching the battle behind me. But when he did he notice me, he vanished."

The man grimaced as if once again being filled with despair. "I continued on as best as I could… Quite suddenly, the fog melted away behind me. And then, not far away, between the trees, I saw a red glow… the glow of fire."

He looked up at Legolas, who nodded slowly in understanding.

"I could no longer walk, but the knowledge that I had finally found some Elves gave me the courage to keep going. I could clearly see the Elves' faces, glowing in the firelight, and I wondered at how they could not hear my cries for help when I was so close. I reached out to touch someone to make my presence known – but then all light was extinguished, and the circle of Elves vanished. It must be some magic of yours. I tried to approach three times. After the second hopeless attempt… you saw me. I am eternally grateful."

Legolas smiled.

"Well there we have it," said Gandalf, raising his eyebrows and looking at Legolas.

"So there was someone, as you had expected!" he said, delighted that they had found a lead. "But, Mithrandir, who was it? The description sounds like an old man – could he be from Laketown?"

"Of that I do not yet know," Gandalf sighed heavily. "As this young lad has already mentioned, a hood and a beard could conceal almost anyone's identity, particularly under the cover of darkness. It could indeed be a Man from Laketown, but I would not like to jump to such damning conclusions without better evidence when the consequences could be immense."

Legolas nodded silently, thinking of how his father would react if the collaborator with the Orcs was indeed a Man of Laketown. Whether Thranduil would cease trade with Laketown or would declare war on people who colluded with such evil, Legolas did not know, but it could only serve to put more tension on an already strained relationship.

Gandalf rose. "I must speak of this to both Lord Elrond and your father, Legolas. I fear that if we do not discover the identity of this person overseeing the attack and their reasons behind it, we will not have seen the last of him and his foul allies."

Legolas glanced uneasily at the bruised and bandaged Dúnedan, and felt as ill as he looked, for he definitely did not wish for another attack like the first, neither on the Dúnedain nor on the Elves now sheltering them within the palace.

**xXxXx**

**Thank you for reading! I'd be interested to know what you think of this new lead and of Aragorn's portrayal… I know he's an adult, but he has still got a lot to learn about life in the Wild and he is very young compared to Elrond. I hope you think I got the balance right, but if not let me know so I can do better in future chapters.**

**Next time Aragorn finally escapes the Halls of Healing, and he encounters someone at the feast whom he was not expecting… Can you guess who it might be, and how he will react? :)**


	6. A Feast of Beauty

**Chapter 6 – A Feast of Beauty**

By early evening divine aromas were wafting out of the kitchen, drifting along the hallways and diffusing into the Halls of Healing, where they were stirring up Aragorn's appetite so efficaciously that his stomach was rumbling every minute. Though he had discovered that finding his own food in the Wild was rather satisfying, he had grown up in Rivendell being well fed, and the memory of those mouthwatering meals was now incredibly vivid in his mind. He dearly hoped that the spread of food in the Woodland Realm was alike to that in Rivendell, and moreover that he would receive a share of whatever was cooking. It would be too sore a loss to miss out on such aromatic culinary delights when he was famished…

Just as Aragorn had grimly decided it was unlikely that he and the other Dúnedain would receive any more than basic rations or leftovers, he saw Legolas heading towards him, looking bright.

"I am pleased to inform you, Estel, that you are free to leave the Halls of Healing," the Elf said as he drew near.

Aragorn felt his face light up and he launched himself out of bed, throwing his arms around his friend in joy. _"Hannon le, mellon nín!"_ he cried.

"_However_," Legolas said calmly as Aragorn released him, "there are two conditions."

Aragorn sank bank down onto his bed, suspicion clouding his face. "And they are…?"

"At Lord Elrond's command, you must allow Elladan or Elrohir to treat your wound with Evening Star flowers." The Elf waited, but Aragorn did not answer. He still felt that the healing properties of those flowers would be wasted upon him, when those flowers were so rare. "I require _your word_, Estel, that you will allow them to do so, or you must remain here."

Aragorn sighed. Elrond had made his views perfectly clear, and there would be not the remotest chance of swaying him on this matter.

"Yes, you have my word," he mumbled reluctantly. "What is the second condition?"

Legolas smiled a little mischievously. "You must sit beside me at the glorious feast we shall have this evening in the Great Hall!"

Aragorn let out a laugh. "You cannot be serious?"

"Oh, I am quite set on it, Estel," Legolas replied. "You shall join me, Elladan and Elrohir, and what a joyous night we shall have! Truly, it would be most unfitting for you to sit apart from your family – and highly disappointing for me to be bereft of your company."

"But Legolas – you know they are not _really_ my family," Aragorn protested, feeling daunted at the thought of sitting on the high table among some of the most prominent Elves of the time.

Legolas's expression turned severe, immediately dispelling the words on Aragorn's lips. "I will hear none of that," he said firmly. "You are Elven in every way save blood. Now, you will join me for dinner, or else I shall forbid the healers from letting you go."

Aragorn's stomach gave a loud rumble, as if to remind him that he would be a fool to decline the offer of a glorious Elven feast. "It appears I have little choice," he mused, grinning.

Legolas frowned. "I confess I had expected better manners from you, Estel, when I offered you the great privilege of joining me on the high table. Have you forgotten your manners as well as your family?"

Aragorn's cheeks coloured. Legolas's eyes twinkled wickedly.

"There, it is settled. You shall join me in the Great Hall in an hour. I have already ordered the servants to fill the bath in your room so that you might spruce up… It would be appropriate if you should join us clean and smelling… fresh."

Aragorn looked down at his grubby leather jerkin and shirtsleeves. They were so travel-worn, coated in mud and blood and all manner of dirt, that it was hard to tell whether they were meant to be green, brown, grey, or some blend of all three.

"Are you saying I have an offensive odour?" he asked, feigning hurt.

"Well, as you know Elves have rather more refined senses than Men," said Legolas.

Aragorn swatted him, but the Elf was too quick; he darted out of the way and the room rang with his musical laughter.

"Come, Estel, I am only teasing!" he said. "And I have asked for the servants to lay out some clean clothes for you, so that you might look more presentable."

"But I have none," said Aragorn. "Those that were in my pack are in no better state than these."

"That is no matter; I gave the servants a set of my own robes earlier… They have made a few little adjustments, so the robes should not be too tight across the shoulders."

"Legolas, you should not have!" Aragorn exclaimed. To think he would be wearing the Prince of Mirkwood's own clothes-!

"Nonsense," Legolas waved Aragorn's protest away. "The colour never suited me much anyway. And if my memory serves me well, which I am most certain it does, you looked rather fine _indeed_ dressed in Elven robes, Estel."

The Elf's keen blue gaze pierced him to the core. Aragorn blushed and his eyes fell down to the floor.

"Yes," Legolas continued, and Aragorn could feel his burning gaze upon him still, "I am sure the elleths will be thanking me tomorrow for providing such a treat."

Aragorn's head snapped up. _"Legolas!"_

The Elf grinned as if he had not had such fun in months. "Well, it is high time that I showed you to your room," he said, gesturing Aragorn out of the Halls of Healing, "or else you shall scarcely have time for a bath. It will take a good long while to scrub off the countless layers of grime coating you. When did you last wash? Five years ago in Imladris?"

"Careful, Legolas, or one of your guests will take offence," Aragorn growled, following the Elf down the hallways. "But I am afraid there are more important matters concerning me than a bath. Might I be able to speak with your father? I wish to thank him for all he has done for me and the Dúnedain – taking us in, helping the wounded, sheltering and feeding us. I would not want him to think me ungrateful."

Legolas turned his head away so Aragorn could not see his expression. "I am afraid that is not really possible," he said, his voice drained of the humour that had suffused it only moments ago. "What with his guests – Lord Elrond, his family and his advisors – he is quite preoccupied at present…"

Aragorn sagged, seeing right through the excuse. "You mean he would not wish to speak with me," he translated.

Legolas looked around quickly. "Whatever makes you say that?"

"Because I saw his expression last night when I entered your halls; and I saw how uneasy you became upon being summoned to speak with him. He does not wish for me and my people to be here."

Legolas analysed Aragorn for a moment. "You are very perspicacious," he concluded.

"I _am_ Elven in every way save blood," Aragorn threw back Legolas's quip at him. The Elf chuckled and shook his head. Aragorn continued, "I am incredibly sorry if you have suffered on my account, Legolas. I should like to set the record straight with your father so he knows that I am to blame, not you."

"You will say no such thing to him!" Legolas scolded furiously. "You are in no way to blame for the chain of events that led our paths here."

"All the same, I should like to express my most heartfelt gratitude."

Legolas shook his head. "Not today, Estel. Now is not the time. Perhaps once my father has… err… grown more accustomed to the presence of Men, then it might be safer to speak with him. And I would strongly advise looking rather more presentable than your current state. To my father, appearances are everything."

"I can see I am fighting a losing battle here," said Aragorn.

"Two; both with me and the bathtub," Legolas teased. "Look, here is your room. I shall await your presence in the Great Hall most eagerly."

"Wait–" Aragorn held out an arm to stop the Elf from leaving. Legolas turned, looking at him enquiringly. For a moment Aragorn faltered. "I – I would like to tell you something," he said, hoping Legolas would take the hint and recall their earlier conversation.

"I am sorry, Estel, but I do not have time – I myself must change, and meet with our guests before everyone congregates in the Great Hall for dinner. You can tell me while we eat."

"But – it is not the kind of conversation that is suitable for the dinner table," Aragorn said meaningfully, lowering his voice.

Legolas just laughed. "How intriguing! Well then, I suppose we shall have to discuss it over after-dinner drinks, once the elders and the elleths have left us! I look forward to it most expectantly." With that he turned and hopped down the corridor, looking more sprightly than Aragorn had seen him all day.

Sighing, Aragorn entered his room and closed the door, eying up the steaming bathtub. It seemed that _that_ particular conversation would have to wait a little longer.

**xXxXx**

An hour later, Aragorn was peering into the mirror at the unrecognisable man that stood there before him. It was an awfully long time since he had last been able to inspect himself in a looking-glass, and in those years he seemed to have changed – he had grown stronger in stature, and his face had lost the fresh, naïve appearance of youth. The same grey eyes looked back at him, but they had seen a lot more in the last few years than he ever had in his twenty years previous.

Aragorn eyed his reflection appraisingly. The glistening blue robes that Legolas had laid out for him were so magnificent that he was sure the Elf had lied about not particularly liking them. It felt wonderfully natural to be dressed again in the fine garb of the Elves, albeit strange after so long spent in the rather more practical leather jerkin and heavy boots of the Rangers.

Before bathing he had discarded the dressing on his head wound, and he had no intention of putting it on again. There was no way he would attend a feast with a great bandage tied around his head like some turban, making him stick out like a sore thumb among such fair and noble folk! Instead he gingerly combed his dark hair over the smarting, angry gash so that only the red-raw front edge was left visible on his forehead. It would have to do.

There came a knock at the door and a familiar voice called out. "Aragorn?"

Within moments Aragorn had flung open the door. "Halbarad!" he cried, throwing his arms around his mentor jubilantly. "I am so glad to find you well, my friend!"

"And I you," the older man laughed, looking Aragorn up and down. "I had no idea you polished up so well, Aragorn! To think we should be going to a feast tonight…" He shook his head, smiling. "Shall I lead the way down to the Great Hall? I believe I can remember the way. I lost my way earlier during my search for the kitchens and ended up accidentally touring the whole palace."

The two Dúnedain headed down the hallways of the Elven palace, talking all the while – for Halbarad had been busy overseeing the Dúnedain's affairs while Aragorn had been recovering in the Halls of Healing and Aragorn was keen to be updated on all his news. He learnt that a number of the Dúnedain – those who had escaped from the battle largely uninjured – had also been housed in rooms along the same hallway, where they had gladly taken some much-needed rest. As they passed, the men emerged from their rooms to join them, warmly greeting Aragorn and expressing relief at his recovery just as Halbarad had done, so that by the time they arrived at the Great Hall, they were a group of almost twenty.

Aragorn felt his breath taken away from him as he looked in awe around the large cavern, filled with golden light from two fires burning merrily in large hearths at either end. A long table stood upon a dais, and three more stretched away in front of it, all groaning under the weight of the most dazzling array of dishes Aragorn had ever set eyes on. Everywhere Elves moved about, clad in cloths of bright colours sewn with gems that sparkled like stars.

Aragorn was rooted to the ground, for a moment too stunned to find himself invited to such a feast. How could he deserve a place beside Legolas – on the _high_ _table_ no doubt – when surrounding him were such dignified and graceful beings? Behind him, he could hear the Men admiring the wonderful food laid out before them and praising their good fortune, but Aragorn felt quite overwhelmed at the prospect of the feast and nervously tugged on his hair, pulling it lower over his wound.

He did not have long to dwell on this, however, as Legolas soon appeared before him, dressed as Aragorn had never before seen him – in the brightest emerald green robes trimmed with gold and a circlet gleaming on his head.

"I see they fit you well," he said, raking his eyes over Aragorn's robes.

Aragorn grinned nervously. "Yes, although they are a little tight on the arms," he said, running a hand over his bicep where the fine cloth was pulled taut over his muscle.

Legolas laughed. "Never mind; you shall not be doing any fighting tonight. Forgive me, Estel, I shall be with you in a moment, but I must tend to our guests – my father is just speaking with the servants, and I should not leave them unattended."

Aragorn nodded and watched Legolas weave his way over to where Elrond's company stood.

"You are friends with the Prince?" Halbarad enquired.

Aragorn nodded, a smile filling his face. "I met Legolas in my youth, when I lived in Rivendell."

Halbarad looked impressed. "You are fortunate to have such a friend. And I daresay it will help when negotiations commence."

Aragorn glanced at the Dúnedan shrewdly and they exchanged looks.

"I have not yet spoken with the King," said Aragorn.

"Nor I."

Aragorn pursed his lips grimly. He cast his eyes around the hall, and saw the Elven King not far off, discussing a matter with one of the servants just as Legolas had mentioned. This was the first time Aragorn had spied him since entering the Palace, and the first opportunity to offer him his thanks for saving the Dúnedain. Legolas had warned him against speaking to Thranduil, but how could he possibly sit at the King's table without even having _introduced_ himself to the King? To allow that to happen would be a terrible impropriety, and as Legolas had also said, it was of the utmost importance to appear respectable in Thranduil's eyes.

"Excuse me a moment." Aragorn left Halbarad and the other Dúnedain, making a beeline for the King at the side of the hall. Though the Elf's back was turned, he was no less intimidating. He was very tall, even for one of the Firstborn, and his long gold-white hair fell flawlessly down his back over robes of a rich scarlet hue. Aragorn felt a quiver of nerves as he drew near, but when he heard Thranduil ending the conversation with the servant, he knew his time had come.

"King Thranduil?" he said, bowing low in deference as the Elf turned to look at him. "May I present myself to you? My name is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, one of the Dúnedain."

"Ah, yes…" Thranduil levelled his gaze on Aragorn, who drew himself up as tall as he could in the hope of being deemed acceptable to the regal Elf standing before him. "I have heard much about you, Aragorn…"

For a second Aragorn faltered and wondered whether the King was referring stories Legolas had relayed to him of their time together in Imladris, or whether he was in fact making a subtle jab at the more recent events. Sincerely hoping it was the former, Aragorn said wholeheartedly, "I cannot even begin to thank you enough for what you have done for me and my kin – "

Thranduil held up a hand, cutting him off. "Then do not," he said resolutely.

Aragorn blinked in surprise.

"It is time that I took my seat at the high table," Thranduil continued superciliously. "It would not do to keep my guests waiting." He raised his eyebrows as if challenging Aragorn to contradict him.

Once again, Aragorn was quite wrong-footed. Was he supposed to withhold his expression of gratitude, then?

"Oh – of course," he stammered. "Please forgive me." Not forgetting his manners, he bowed one more.

"There is far more than your delaying my feast that begs for my forgiveness," Thranduil threw back pointedly. He shot Aragorn a piercing glance that froze him to the core with humiliation. Then the Elf swept over to the high table, his robes billowing behind him as he called out to the servants to herald the start of the feast.

Aragorn sighed, left behind feeling wretchedly inadequate. His exchange with the King had not gone well by any measure. Perhaps he should have listened to Legolas after all and waited before trespassing on Thranduil's time…

"I see you have met the King," Halbarad said, joining Aragorn's side.

"Mmm," was all Aragorn could manage.

Halbarad let out a laugh like a bark and clapped Aragorn on the back. "Do not lose heart! Thranduil takes some getting used to, but you will learn his curious ways and guises soon enough."

At that moment a herald let out a bright, clear note from a trumpet, and the sound echoed like dozens of voices around the cavernous chamber. Aragorn saw King Thranduil taking his seat at the table, and now the various Elves of the palace and Elrond's company were heading to their seats too. The Dúnedain were settling down at the far end of one of the three long tables, but where should he go?

On cue Legolas bounced into view.

"Estel, you must come and sit by my side at the high table!" he said, his eyes twinkling more brightly than the gems encrusted in his golden circlet. Daunted, Aragorn looked up at the majestic Elves seated at the high table, and helplessly remembered the condition on which he had been freed from the Halls of Healing.

"What an honour," Halbarad said. "I bid you two farewell." With a nod of his head, he left for the table at which the other Dúnedain were seated and marvelling at the bounteous quantity of food before them. Aragorn looked back longingly.

"Come, Estel!" Legolas said with finality, and he seized Aragorn's arm and steered him firmly away from all the other Rangers, up towards the dais. "What merry conversation we shall share tonight!"

Aragorn sat down at the high table as tentatively as if sitting down in a patch of stinging nettles, but when he saw that he had Elladan opposite him and that the King was several places further down the table, he felt much more at ease. Soon he was quite absorbed in helping himself to all the colourful dishes in sight and tasting the various carafes of wine being passed up and down the table, and he chatted away contentedly with his foster-brother.

"It is a lovely surprise to spend time with you once more, Estel," Elladan said, pouring them both more red wine. "How long do you intend to stay here?"

"I do not know," Aragorn said, casting an eye down the table to where Thranduil was talking with Glorfindel. "As long as I am permitted, I suppose."

Elladan seemed to pick up on the source of Aragorn's discomfort. "Ah, Thranduil would not tell you all to pack your bags until you were well enough. While some of your companions still lie in the Halls of Healing, you will be welcome here. I do not wish ill on any of the Dúnedain, Estel, but I must admit I hope at least one of them has a fracture, for then you will be guaranteed to stay here for a few weeks at least!"

Aragorn smiled and hungrily tucked into the stuffed pheasant. He too was glad to have the company of his Elven family. "But even if we did have to leave sooner that I would like, could you and Elrohir not join us again?" he asked, and he could not stop the hopefulness from creeping into his voice.

Elladan laughed. "Ah, Estel! Perchance we could. It would all depend on Ada."

"How long are you meant to be here, then?" Aragorn said between mouthfuls.

"Oh, a month, maybe. It depends on how long negotiations take. But we shall definitely be here for Mereth-O-Laer, which is only a couple of weeks away. The festival is celebrated much more here than in Imladris, Estel. I hope for your sake you can stay! Ai, the lights, the music, the flowers!" He sighed, a faraway look in his eyes. Finally he came around, by which time Aragorn had demolished three-quarters of his plate and was already considering seconds. "Of course, there is also the water festival in Esgaroth at this time of year, which I have not been to for a very long time. Many of the Woodland Elves attend it, and it is the only time in the whole year that the Elves and the Men get together for something other than business. It is worth seeing, if you can."

"Will you still go, if Thranduil is not on good terms with the Men of Laketown?" Aragorn enquired. "I would like to join you, if I am able. I have never been to Laketown."

"Of course. Legolas may be obliged to follow his father's command, but luckily Elrohir and I are under no such obligation. I am sure we could sneak away for a day or two if needed!" Elladan gave him a wink, and Aragorn grinned. "But hopefully, if Ada's discussions with Thranduil go to plan, such secrecy will not be needed, and you and Legolas will be free to come too."

Aragorn did not know what sort of discussions Elrond was planning on having with Thranduil, but he was thoroughly enjoying this feast after five years of hardship in the Wild, and if more celebrations were only just around the corner, he would not like to miss out on them if he could help it. Besides, he was sure his fellow Dúnedain would agree. Such moments of peace and merriment were few and far between.

**xXxXx**

Legolas happily sipped on his oak-matured Dorwinian wine, surrounded by his friends. The feast was just as wonderful as he had hoped. To one side he had Estel, who was currently in conversation across the table with Elladan, and on his other was Elrohir. The dark-haired Elf was talking in a low voice with his father, and Legolas could not help but listen in, particularly when he saw the concern on the younger Elf's face.

"Ada, I truly believe you may have given Estel too much Thinking Time when he was naughty as a child. He is reflecting on the Dúnedain's ambush far too much."

Elrond laughed. "It is no bad thing that he is reflecting on what took place. It is an important characteristic that he should have once he is a great King of Men with an inordinate amount of responsibility for others."

"But Ada," Elrohir insisted, "he is perceiving his own mistakes when there are none! It saddens me to see him blame himself thus."

Elrond let out a sigh. "You may be right," he conceded. "Perhaps Thinking Time was not the best punishment for Estel after all." He gave another chuckle.

"Forgive me for overhearing," said Legolas, and Elrohir looked around, "but I do believe that Aragorn will have little cause to blame himself for much longer. Once we find the true reasons behind the attack, it will become clear that he was not at fault."

"But we do not know the reasons yet," said Elrohir.

"Nay, but one of the Dúnedain sighted something of interest that might help us."

Elrohir looked surprised, but Elrond nodded. "Yes, Mithrandir has just spoken of this to me."

Elrohir's head turned quickly between the two Elves on either side of him. "What? Why did you not speak to me of this? What was seen?"

Elrond smiled at his son. "I shall let Legolas explain," he said before turning to engage in conversation with an Elf on his other side.

"Explain what?" came Aragorn's inquisitive voice from behind him.

Legolas turned and grinned.

**xXxXx**

"You see, Estel?" Legolas said, once he had finished explaining about the hooded, bearded man that the Dúnedan had spotted watching the battle. "The attack _was_ engineered purposefully after all. It was not at _all_ a result of your carelessness."

Aragorn nodded, a warm peaceful feeling seeping out from his heart to melt the tension that had held him prisoner ever since the Orc attack. It was not his fault… there was someone else to blame…

"But we still do not know who this Man is," he said with a frown. "It could be any old man, or anyone disguised as an old man."

Elrohir set down his fork. "Nay, but there is one thing we do know: it was no Orc."

"And thus, there is some intelligence behind the attack," Elladan deduced.

"I'm not sure if I should be more concerned by that," said Aragorn, feeling somewhat uncomfortable at the idea. He served himself to a second portion of roasted potatoes in consolation.

Elrohir was looking perplexed. "There is one thing I do not understand. If we assume this collaborator had ordered the attack, which I think we are right in doing so, why would he stand by and watch? Why would he not fight also?"

"Perhaps he was being clever, and using the Orcs solely as a means to an end," Elladan guessed. "Having manipulated them into doing his bidding and spurred them into bloodlust, he could stand by without risking his own neck and watch them do his will."

"Or perhaps he did not want to risk being seen," Legolas added astutely. "However, for all his efforts, he failed on that account." The Elf smiled craftily at Aragorn. "It would not surprise me if he was banking on the Dúnedain's loyalty to each other and courage to continue fighting even if greatly outnumbered – he would not think that any would flee and might therefore see him. But as we know, a Ranger _did_ see him as he came in search for help, and now we are aware of his existence. We just don't know who he is yet."

"How will we find out?" asked Aragorn. He did not like the idea of any Man joining forces with such evil beings, nor was he at ease with the knowledge that they still walked free under the sun.

"He will show himself again soon enough, I expect," said Legolas. "Whatever his motive for the attack, he did not succeed. Therefore he will no doubt try once more to secure his goal, but by some other means."

Aragorn jerked as a shiver rippled through his body. The idea that he might be attacked again did not sit well with him at all.

"Do not fear, Aragorn. You are safe while you are here."

"But we cannot stay indefinitely!" he protested.

"We, on the other hand, will be remaining here for a fair time," said Elrohir, smiling at his brother. "What have you got planned for us, Legolas?"

As the three Elves began to throw out ideas for what they could do together over the next few weeks, Aragorn felt his attention wander. He wondered if he should venture conversation with the other Elves nearby, but opposite him was Erestor, Elrond's chief councillor who was not renowned for his sense of humour or chattiness, and to his left was a close advisor of Thranduil who was clearly wishing he had better advised the King on the seating plan.

Aragorn lifted his goblet to his lips and let his eyes wander down the table, curious to learn who else was deemed worthy of the high table. His gaze had just skipped over Thranduil when he saw who was sitting a few seats down and his heart gave an almighty lurch. He choked violently on the wine and, spluttering most indecorously, he was forced to meekly accept Legolas' hand slapping his back as tears streamed from his eyes.

"Estel, what is the matter?" Elladan enquired of Aragorn, who was burying himself in his napkin and trying to ignore both the repulsed glances of Erestor and the soft chuckles of Legolas beside him.

"Nothing… I was just a little hasty with the wine," Aragorn gasped. "Please… continue."

But as Elrohir resumed telling his story and earned more laughs from Legolas, Aragorn heard nothing. He was reeling with shock, and his heart was bounding erratically in his chest, fuelled by a potent charge of terror and joy. This time, as he shakily raised his goblet to his lips, he did not take a mouthful, but glanced tentatively over the rim to seek out the Elf that had filled him with such disbelief, fear, and – as his thrumming pulse reminded him – excitement.

_Arwen_. How his heart ached to look upon her, engorged with a tide of dammed-up emotions that he had tried so desperately hard to lock away but were suddenly unleashed! Every vow and pledge to curtail his love for her was spectacularly broken. He gazed at her, scarcely remembering to breathe, unable to tear his eyes away, unable to clutch onto any remnants of his self-restraint.

_Oh, Valar above, how he loved her!_

How could he have not known she was here? He nearly wept with relief to finally see Arwen after so long. He had dreaded this moment every day, knowing how he secretly desired her still, yet all to aware that he could not let his feelings show, that he had to control them, that he had to let her go.

But how could it hurt to merely _look_ at Elrond's daughter for a moment? Conquered by temptation, Aragorn indulged himself a few long seconds to drink in her beauty, hardly suppressing a moan as he looked upon what was to him the most wondrous forbidden treasure in all of Arda.

Arwen was stunningly beautiful… the sight of her in the flesh put his memories to shame. In stark contrast to his current feelings, she seemed totally at ease. Her eyes were upon Gandalf, and as he made some jovial comment her lips curved up into a soft smile. Aragorn trembled at the sight and hurriedly set his goblet down on the table lest he spill any, but still stared, utterly mesmerised. A little of her hair was pulled back into braids laced with silver, while the rest tumbled around her shoulders and melted into the peacock-blue colour of her dress. Her head was turned, allowing Aragorn's eyes an opportunity to roam with careless abandon over her perfect features, fulfilling five long years' worth of longing. Her slender hand was draped casually upon the table, her fingers absently stroking the spine of her goblet; the sight sent shivers springing to life from his memory and he gripped his own goblet so tightly that his knuckles whitened, trying to constrain his reaction and alarmed by the power she still had over him.

With immense effort Aragorn hauled his gaze away, berating himself for the singing joy in his chest, and bowed his head over his goblet. He had _promised_ himself he would not be so overwhelmed when he next encountered Arwen; but the unexpectedness of her appearance seemed to have caught him unawares, and only now did he realise that in their separation his feelings had _heightened_, not receded…

He suddenly felt very sick. This was _very_ wrong, and he knew it. The pleasant warmth of satiety that had filled his stomach was usurped by churning nausea. He regretted his third serving – in fact, he regretted having eaten at all. The thought of dessert was unbearable. It was all he could do to appear occupied by his wine, and he sipped on the fine Dorwinian far more frequently than could be accounted for by its excellence in taste in a futile attempt to calm his nerves.

Aragorn was immune to Legolas's laughter next to him, deaf to the words of the Elves' conversation, clinging onto the shreds of his self-control, fighting to hold himself together but unable to wrench his eyes away from Arwen's beautiful smile. The longer he looked upon her, the harder it became to turn away, though he knew he must or else risk revealing his feelings to all. Why, oh _why_ could he not appear as unfazed as Arwen? Though he never once saw her eyes stray towards him, she must have seen him, and yet instead of displaying shock or mortification, she was smiling freely – if anything, the laughter dancing in her eyes seemed to have intensified…

Ai, he could not _bear_ to stay here a moment longer, tortured to the point of sickness by the close proximity of the Elf he adored and the terrible knowledge he was wrong to feel for her as he did!

As soon as first servant brought out the fruits and sweet pastries for dessert, Aragorn leapt to his feet.

"Estel?" Legolas looked up in confusion.

"Please pass my apologies on to your father," he said hoarsely.

Legolas looked at him in dismay. "You're not leaving so soon?"

Aragorn swallowed, feeling guilt tug at his heart upon hearing the disappointment in Legolas's voice.

"What is wrong, Estel? Are you ill?"

"I –" Aragorn could not find the words to explain. He merely shook his head, offering up a look of utter desperation to Legolas. The Elf seemed at least to discern that this was no fickle matter, and had the discretion to not probe him in the company of others.

"Will you not return once the feast has finished, when we retire to the Room of Song?"

Aragorn was reminded forcefully of his promise to spend the night at Legolas's side in return for the favour Legolas had done him. Bound by a sense of duty, he gave a stiff nod.

"Forgive me," he said softly. Against his will, his eyes were once more magnetised down the table to the Elf-maiden there. His heart jumped into his mouth and he turned away, eyes closed tight, struggling against the clamour of emotions threatening to drown him. _Valar, how did he still love Arwen?_

"I'm sorry," he choked out, and before Legolas could say anything more he bolted from the table, making for privacy of the empty hallway beyond the door before he could become undone.

**xXxXx**

**Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! It's a little longer in compensation – I hope you enjoyed it! And above all I hope you found Aragorn's reaction believable. Please let me know what you enjoyed or what you would like to see in the upcoming chapters :) Thank you!**


End file.
